


Fidelitas

by Kelbora



Series: Fidelitas [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Action, Adventure, Angst, AskUSUKSkyrim, Blood Magic Use, Body Disfigurement, Crossover, Demon Summoning, Fantasy, M/M, M/M relationships, Murder, Non-Linear Narrative, Psychological Horror, Reader Discretion Always Advised, Romance, Scenes w/ violence, Torture, Vampirism, War, dark themes, graphic sexual scenes, lycanthropy, rough consensual sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-01
Updated: 2019-03-26
Packaged: 2019-11-07 06:47:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 57,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17955602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kelbora/pseuds/Kelbora
Summary: Breton birthed and Dragonborn destined; Arthur is a man of great power and forever lusting for more. It is a fine line between being the hero of legends or the nightmare of nations, and Arthur chooses his side based on the rewards to be gained. (This is a collection of Tales from the combined universes of Hetalia and Skyrim, all of which are USUK/UKUS in origin. These Tales will not be in chronological order, as they were not written nor posted in a timeline. Multiple tags and warning apply, and will be added as chapters progress. Discretion advised.)





	1. Fealty

_**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia or Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim. I am merely a fan who appreciates the ingenious glory of Hetalia's masterful tomfoolery and Skyrim's beauty._

**Warning:** Strong Language, Graphic Scenes, Gore and Violence

**Tale One Characters:**

**-** England/ Arthur Kirkland

 **-** America/ Alfred F. Jones

**~Fealty~**

**Tale One**

_"For the cost of my soul"_

 

After so many years every tavern had begun to look the same. The same hardwood floors with worn rugs tossed about them, tattered banners with faded emblems hanging from otherwise barren walls, and hearths too small and ill-placed to provide proper heat to every corner of the establishment. The smell was always the same too: the odor of cheap ale, the spice of unwashed travelers, and the stench of the unkempt stables outside. This far north, however, the same chilled mountain air that bit the lungs also made the unpleasant smells more bearable. Regardless…he still hated the cold.

The mage remained huddled in his cloak and borrowed furs in a far corner of the room, wishing death upon the ghastly bard attempting to recant some exaggerated ballad, as he waited for his companion to return with what he hoped would be the key to their room. It had been two very long days and nights of hard riding that had brought them this far and he was exhausted. It didn't help matters that the horrid disease coursing through his veins made it impossible to control his internal temperature and drastically fluctuated his strength. It frustrated him beyond reason just how unpredictable his power and health had become, usually made worse during the daylight hours when most of the traveling had to be done. The spasms and episodes in sudden lack of muscle control were intolerable, but worse was the constant dehydration water could not cure and fatigue rest could not remedy.

Even now he felt parched and leaden... He clutched the coverings around him tighter as his heart rate began to surge and a wash of hot, then cold came over him. His eyes were closed to block out the light of the fire pit in the distance but somehow he could not escape visions of the flames. He tried turning away and resting his forehead against the coolness of the stone wall, but soon the bard's irritating song began to increase in volume and his ears started to ring. The sound only grew louder as he tried to block it out, and soon the screeching white noise felt painful and deafening. Even so, he could not ignore the steady beating beneath it all – the constant, rhythmic pulsing of life he could suddenly smell.

The tantalizing scent of existence, a living heart – blood.

" _Hey_ , stay with me now."

Arthur opened his eyes and found himself sweating and breathing fast, with a white-knuckle grip on the bear pelt his companion had given him. He looked up to the tall, well-built young man standing over him and watching him with concern. He was dressed in the mismatched armor of a mercenary, adorned in pieces chosen for functionality over appearance, and armed with a large two-handed sword strapped across his back. His body was well concealed, but without his helmet his lightly bronzed Imperial skin, golden Nordic hair and shining sky-blue eyes were easy to see. His face was striking, but it wasn't his handsome features or baritone voice that captured the majority of Arthur's attention…

"Your muttish odor is more pronounced than ever."

The mercenary frowned, but otherwise took the comment in stride and offered his hand to help the other up. "Do forgive me, my lord. I shall try to only offend you on purpose next time."

The mage snorted and allowed the half-blood to help him stand. He swayed a bit in his state but soon recomposed himself, and kept on the layers covering him as the man led him up the stairs to the room he had rented for the evening. The small apartment was sparse with only a single bed, writing desk and small chest that doubled as a bedside table. It was utterly unimpressive and smelled as unpleasant as the downstairs common room…but Arthur was so exhausted that he stopped caring.

The half-blood helped his stricken companion to a seat upon the bed before going to the room's only window, checking the outside before setting the lock and pulling the curtains. Arthur was used to the mercenary's habits and allowed him to sweep the rest of the room in peace. The mage was far too tired to bother with him anyway and just longed for the candles to be doused so he could sleep.

"It's getting worse, isn't it?"

Arthur tried to ignore the traces of anxiety in the man's voice and remained tucked within his warm cocoon. "Your smell or the quality of inns you choose for us? In either case I am inclined to say yes."

"Arthur, you know what I mean," the blond returned, bristling. "We should still have another day to fix this, but your eyes have already started to turn red and I can't…"

The room fell silent and for once it didn't herald the sensory acuteness that was slowly driving him mad. For that moment it was quiet and he was still himself, as mortal and alive as he had always been… Still so tired…

"We're running out of time."

Arthur had been drifting off when his cohort interjected, and he scowled as he pulled the furs tighter around his frame. "If you're going to deprive me of rest, then do so with something more inspiring."

"This isn't a joke, Arthur," the mercenary snapped and continued pacing as he unstrapped his sword and more cumbersome pieces of armor. "If I had my way we'd still be en route to Morthal and be there well before the next nightfall."

"Yes, and we'd arrive frostbitten, near death and short two already half-dead horses," the mage retorted, growing rather irritated with this frivolous argument.

"At least you'd still be alive enough to cure!"

The mage waited as the mercenary vented his anxiety. Arthur took the insults and illogical shouting in understanding for what they really were…the man was worried about him.

But then again, Alfred was always worried about him.

The mercenary was a half-Nord, half-Imperial bastard; the product of a violent encounter in the earliest years of the unrest that later swept Skyrim into civil war. Alfred had the fair-colored features and build of his Nordic father, a sworn member of Ulfric's faction of rebels, while his Imperial-born mother's gifts to him were found in his sun-kissed skin and cursed blood. Alfred's mother was a member of the Companions, and her black magic malady had become her son's reality from the moment he was conceived.

The world had always hated Alfred for his roots, as he would never fully belong to either of his parents' worlds or the common one. His mother, once a proud warrior, exiled herself and her son away from the societies that would shun them. The move shadowed Alfred's beginning in darkness, but spared him the wrath of the Silver Hand that constantly hunted his and his mother's kind.

Now an adult, Alfred had learned to hide his origins and his curse to function in the world as an outcast – making a living as a mercenary, with the freedom to choose his jobs and those he served as he pleased.

For the past year, that choice had been to serve and protect the Dragonborn, to whom he felt he owed his life.

Arthur had taken to lying down some time ago, and finally Alfred seemed to have calmed enough to cease shouting and notice. The mage had begun drifting again when he felt the bed dip behind him and a muscular pair of arms wrap around his body. He was drained and Alfred's embrace had become something familiar and comfortable over the past few months, so he relaxed back into the other as Alfred's head came to rest on his shoulder.

"You will drive me mad someday," Alfred whispered, pressing his lips against the mage's cheek.

"Only because you'll let me," Arthur replied, his eyes still closed and body preparing for sleep.

Arthur too had inhuman blood, but of a colder variety. The mage's Breton blood flowed red, but thick with dragon essence. Arthur's tongue was endowed with the language of his  _Dova_  soul and his breath transformed the very air into power. Since escaping the chopping block in Helgen years ago, he had dedicated his days to learning how to harness the power within him, power even grander than the natural spark of magic he'd been cultivating since childhood. His status as Dragonborn had paved his way into the hallowed halls of the College of Winterhold, where ostracized wretches like him had never been welcome. He had become one of the greatest students to ever adorn the robes of a magic user, and still those of his order never trusted him and whispered behind his back. Like Alfred, he would never be of one world or another. He straddled the lines of his forced poverty and his destiny, all while adding the stigma of being a magic user to his reputation.

People only sought him out to use him, never otherwise. He had accepted this fate long ago and had decided to live his life without the burden of others…that was, until Alfred came into his life.

To this day he still did not know what possessed him to stop along that mountain path, littered with the aftermath of a dragon attack. The remains of the caravan heading to Riften were a grisly sight, as those who had not been eaten had been dismembered and cast about like broken dolls. The attack must have happened nearly a day before, but there was still one soul clinging to life among the carnage. Naked but for the blood covering him head to toe, Arthur found the man battered and fighting for breath. The kinder thing might have been to end his suffering and move on, but something about the man's determination to live invoked a kind of curiosity in him…and he wondered what was worth so much pain to go on living. He treated the man in the field as he could and completed his journey to Riften, where he nursed the fallen warrior back to health.

He'd been stuck with him ever since.

Alfred proved to be the most interesting and infuriating nuisance Arthur had ever dealt with. The man followed him around like an exuberant puppy for a good month before Arthur just accepted that short of another dragon devouring him whole, he'd never be rid of the pest. Even so, he had to admit that the man had his uses; he was as good in a fight as he was charismatic with people. When people were oblivious of his background, they were absolutely enthralled by his silver tongue and handsome looks. Charming was a good word to describe him, certainly a word that had never described the reclusive mage but a feature of Alfred's he had begun to see as advantageous when dealing with uncooperative or hostile locals. Alfred was more than willing to let him use his gifts too, since he was under some misguided moral code that he owed Arthur his life and pledged to aid him until he felt his debt had been repaid.

Truth be told, the debt had been repaid a thousand fold and Alfred could have soundly left at any point. The mercenary had saved his life so many times already, and was now on a quest to do it again.

Arthur startled awake when he felt something warm and wet sliding against his neck, making him instinctively kick the body behind him.

Alfred grunted at the blow and quickly tightened his hold on the mage. "Hey, stop!"

"What the  _bloody hell_  – did you just lick me?" Arthur demanded, finding the energy to yell on the heels of his adrenaline rush.

Alfred's expression soured, making him look sheepish and guilty all at once in his attempt not to be. "Your wound was bleeding again. I was trying to clean it."

Arthur's face flushed and he quickly shouldered more of the furs to cover his neck, as he fixedly glared anywhere but at Alfred. "Let it bleed, just give me peace."

Alfred just sighed as he always did and resumed his position against his companion. He vigilantly continued his job of keeping Arthur warm and safe, letting the mage sleep as he remained awake and alert for anything that might pose a danger to them.

Or in case Arthur changed early…

* * *

" _ARTHUR, BEHIND YOU!"_

_It came down from the sky like a falling mountain, slamming into the earth and ripping apart its frozen skin upon impact. The serpentine neck reared back, flames crackling along the rim of razor-lined jaws before the wicked maul gaped wide and snapped forward – unleashing hell in a jet stream of oily fire._

_The mage fell upon the ground while hastily casting a ward spell, feeling the inferno racing over him and melting the surrounding snow. He held his enchantment and endured until the beast had to cease its assault to inhale, but instead of another attack, Arthur heard the sound of steel clashing against the creature's scaly body._

_He opened his eyes and found his mercenary shoving his blade deep into the crags between the metallic plates of the dragon. It shrieked with rage, thrashing around before swiping a massive claw at Alfred's torso and sending him flying into a nearby boulder. Arthur watched and felt his heart leap into his throat, and suddenly his bow was in hand and an arrow flew straight into the lava-colored eye leering at the downed warrior._

_Boiling black blood exploded from the wound, pouring down the brute's face and dissolving everything it touched. The ear-shattering cries splitting the air echoed off the mountainside, shaking the ground and the snow. Arthur had let loose several more arrows, each striking true before the mountain's roar drowned out everything else. He looked from his target to the summit and his eyes widened in horror._

_The avalanche barreled towards them and took the dragon first, devouring the beast in white before coming after him. All at once time suddenly slammed into him and the frozen terror he'd been trapped in was snapped by the thick, grizzly arm grabbing him. He barely managed to keep his hold on the bow, as the beast that snatched him moved quickly over the ground, nearly taking to the air as though it had wings._

_He clung tighter to his savior when the beast jumped, sending them far away from the sea of white below, as the sound of claws screeching against the rocks became nearly as intolerable as the raging flood. Arthur just kept hanging onto his protector and slowly he felt himself being pulled upward into the safety of a cave. The mage let out a shuddered sigh of relief when he was finally lowered and his feet touched something solid again._

_He took some deep breaths in an effort to calm himself, listening to the sounds outside begin to fade before finding his voice. "That was close…"_

_His companion didn't respond beyond a canine-like snort, as he moved to the mouth of the cave to survey the aftermath and what might have been their graves._

_Arthur took a moment to observe his friend in turn. He was so much taller and larger in this state, with arms longer than his torso and thick legs bent and twisted to accommodate the powerful muscles coiled beneath the leathery skin. His body was covered in a dense coat of dark fur – closer to a deep amber color with flecks of honey, than the sunshine blond the mage was accustomed to. A large bushy tail flowed out from his backside and swished over the cavern floor in agitation, giving Arthur only glimpses of the massive taloned paws keeping the impressive form anchored. When the beast finally turned around, Arthur beheld the great wolfish face surrounded by a thick mane that flowed down from his pointed ears to his humanoid chest. His companion still stood and walked like a human, but there was little semblance of human left in his appearance…_

_Except for his eyes. Even in their glowing yellow state, Arthur still saw Alfred in those eyes._

_Alfred paused when he realized Arthur was staring at him and the mage watched the all too familiar wash of self-consciousness come over the other. Alfred never liked taking his lycan form, even in front of Arthur, who knew what he was. He turned his head away to keep from making eye contact, and Arthur knew he had unintentionally reminded Alfred of just how altered he had become._

_It was a pretty thankless thing to do after the man had just saved his life._

" _That dragon hit you pretty hard. Are you hurt?"_

_Alfred still wouldn't look at him, but he pinned his ears back and shook his head. The man couldn't use his human tongue in this form, but Arthur was already plenty educated in how to read the other's body language. Alfred was pretty expressive as a human too._

" _Will you need to feed?" he asked, hoping Alfred wouldn't be too sensitive about it, as werewolves usually had to feed after changing. It took a lot of energy, after all._

_Alfred just sighed, the noise sounding so strange coming from a wolf's mouth, as he shook his head again and looked back at the mage with a weary expression. Even though it was the fastest way to replenish strength and sate the cravings of his inner predator, Alfred often restrained himself from partaking in the need to hunt and feed. They had been traveling together for a year and Arthur had only seen Alfred give into his instincts less than a handful of times; even so, the werewolf still refused to let him watch the actual act of him killing and eating prey._

_Alfred liked to pretend he was as human as possible, more so because he truly wanted to be human than the fact that many people hunted his kind, especially the Silver Hand. The elusive organization wouldn't hesitate to pull silver-tipped weapons and try to exterminate him._

_Eventually Alfred approached him, giving him wide berth before sitting down on his haunches against the wall. The mage watched as his great jaws opened in a loud yawn and he lay down on the floor, extending his long limbs and looking like a giant dog stretching before an afternoon nap._

_Alfred would be stuck in this form for a while, but Arthur didn't mind. This was just another part of Alfred, one he still harbored a decent amount of wariness over but still accepted as his friend. Alfred really was the only person in Skyrim he even remotely considered to be his friend..._

" _You look utterly ridiculous like that, you know," he commented, watching Alfred curl into a ball and give him a deadpanned look. "Like an oversized, pointed-eared house dog."_

_Alfred rolled his eyes and flicked his large ears for emphasis, before curling up even tighter and hiding his face behind his bushy tail. He was feigning sleep, something he probably needed since he wasn't going to hunt to replenish himself…but the ruse failed when he uncovered his eyes just enough to watch Arthur's expression. The mage found it to be childishly amusing; and judging by Alfred's grin, it showed._

" _I'm going to see about gathering anything to use as tinder," he began, turning to venture deeper into the cavern. "I will return shortly."_

_The sound of Alfred's claws scraping across the ground was loud, and Arthur quickly turned, pointing an authoritative finger at the werewolf and snapping, "Stop!"_

_Alfred froze halfway between his bowed position and standing, watching Arthur with a surprised look on his face, as the mage suddenly pointed at the ground. "Sit."_

_If ever a beast could frown, Alfred would be the prime example of the expression. Looking both incredulous and miffed, Alfred gave a low growl as his rear slowly lowered back to the floor._

_It just made Arthur smirk. "Good boy, now stay put so I don't have to worry about you using up whatever energy you have left and passing out," he said, ignoring the loud protesting snap of Alfred's jaws, as he cast his mage's light and continued down the tunnel. "As I said, I will return shortly."_

_Arthur knew Alfred wasn't pleased with him wondering off on his own. But Arthur had escaped execution, multiple near-death situations and traversed a great deal of Skyrim on his own before meeting Alfred. The Breton knew he was mortal, but he wasn't so easy to kill. He was the Dragonborn and a high mage schooled at the famed College of Winterhold. He was loosely allied with the Imperial Legion and under the political protection of many jarls, all of them using his influence as the Dragonborn as he used theirs to gain safe passage where he otherwise wasn't welcome._

_He was smart, powerful and wise to the game of politics; and though he was young by the standards of his kind, he had lived more than forty human years – nearly twice that of his constantly worrying companion. The half-blood's relentless need to protect him was flattering, but smothering at times. He trusted Alfred, more so than he trusted any other being alive, but the man needed to remember that he was just as mortal as he was; he needed someone watching out for him too._

_Normally Arthur wouldn't have cared, but Alfred had irritatingly grown on him, so much so that the two had recently crossed the line of sharing a bed beyond a necessary manner. It had only happened twice, but Arthur found himself rather content with their strange relationship now. They were lovers, and yet they never said the words; they were inseparable, but neither of them would point it out. Arthur found himself actually caring about Alfred's wellbeing beyond the mechanics of their alliance, and had even found that he had become less and less indifferent to the man's affections. He defended Alfred when bigoted cur mentioned his heritage, and had more than once killed a member of the Silver Hand for pursuing the half-blood. He was much less obvious about his actions to protect his companion than the reverse, but he did care…and admitting it was causing him less distress as time went on._

_A cold droplet of water falling from the ceiling broke his train of thought, and Arthur blinked away the wetness before raising his hand to illuminate the shadows above him. The mage's light glowed and reflected off the crystalline surfaces of massive icicles covering the roof of the cave. There was natural moonlight pouring in from a gateway sized opening just up ahead, and Arthur felt the chill of the mountain winds filtering in._

_He approached it curiously, looking up at the sky and feeling fresh snow lazily drifting down on the current. The rustle of something further down the path pulled him back to his surroundings and he quickly cast the light into the distant dark. The shadowy outline of a person appeared, and Arthur narrowed his eyes as he slowly backed out of the moonlight._

_He tried to remain quiet as he slowly drew the short sword on his belt. "State your name and purpose," he called out, still carefully backing away._

_He didn't think anything dwelling in these tunnels did so for innocent reasons._

_Another sound issued behind him, and Arthur whirled to find another dark-clad being standing less than an arm's length from him. He didn't hesitate and drove his sword forward into the figure's body, and the inhuman shriek that followed sent his alarm spiking._

_There was no time to react when a cold hand wrapped around his neck from behind and sank nails into his throat, hyperextending his neck to the side before sharp, twin jolts of pain sunk into his flesh. The shock and sudden alien warmth spreading from his neck throughout his body paralyzed him, and his throat seized, making sound impossible. The arm around him tightened and so did another wrapping around his torso, pulling him closer to the terribly cold body behind him, as the powerful jaws clamped harder onto his skin._

_Inside he was screaming. The initial warmth had faded and now only pain was left. The being behind him began sucking against the wound and immediately Arthur started to feel lightheaded and sick. His body began shaking and suddenly there was another sharp pair of fangs sinking into his wrist. His muscles spasmed and he dropped his sword, the sound of it clanging against the stone never registering as he began feeling weaker. His vision began to fade and all he saw was a massive clawed hand reaching out to him before everything fell to darkness._

_He only came to once and wasn't sure how long he'd been gone, but Alfred was standing over him and covered in blood, staring with grief-stricken, glowing yellow eyes. It might have scared him once…but he was so tired now…and the world blissfully fell to darkness again._

* * *

The smell of blood was everywhere – warm, wet and metallic. It filled his mouth and he was forced to wake and expel it, his abdomen and chest heaving as his life flooded from him. Hands were grabbing him and trying to hold him steady, but nothing could stop his body from convulsing as he spent what little of his mortal blood remained. He couldn't breathe, even while Alfred kept him upright with his head hung over the side of the bed.

Alfred was panicking, speaking loudly and quickly, but it all just sounded like white noise to him. All Arthur could hear was his own heart pounding in his head before it began slowing to a frightening pace. He felt a terrible pressure building up inside of him, causing him to vomit again and soon he could hear nothing but the static and his shuddered breaths…

Then it stopped. Everything stopped and Arthur could hear a heartbeat again…but it wasn't his own, and he began to turn towards the source of the sound.

Alfred was staring at him with wide eyes filled with dismay. The man's mouth was moving but all Arthur could hear was his frantic heartbeat…and admire how pronounced the throbbing pulse on the side of his neck had become…

It all happened too fast for his mind to register anything but the taste of blood filling his mouth again. His parched throat had finally found relief and he greedily indulged in the cure. He pulled more and more of the sweet panacea from the warm chalice blessing him with the gift of life, and soon he felt his strength returning to every dying cell in his body. His fingers were tightly wrapped around the golden threads of his sacrifice and he began to pull harder, wanting to fuse this gloriously warm and living body with his own –

The blow to the side of his chest felt like the crushing kick of a horse, and suddenly he collided with floor on his back, unable to breathe. He couldn't draw any air or oust the blood sliding from his mouth down his throat, causing him to choke. His hands clenched and flexed, nails barely scraping over the wooden planks beneath him as he suffocated and writhed.

The world became eclipsed again, but this time he remained awake and aware of what was happening – and for once he could admit just how scared he was.

The side of Alfred's neck was shredded and bleeding profusely, even as the mercenary tried to hold the wound while tending to the man who'd bit him. Arthur weakly managed a cough to try and dislodge the now disgusting lifeblood he'd stolen, but he still couldn't get his lungs to cooperate. Alfred looked torn, wanting to aid his companion by sitting him up so he could breathe but afraid to hold him close again for fear of what might happen. Arthur didn't blame him, and the more he looked at his throat the more revulsion he felt over what he had done.

"We're leaving, tonight," Alfred managed, fighting his own pain and shaking as he finally threw caution away to pick up the mage. "I'm not giving up on you yet."

* * *

_His eyes were so sensitive to the light now and the constant ringing in his ears was giving him a headache. The mage was rubbing his eyes to try and massage away some of the throbbing pressure when Alfred's tantrum ruined any efforts at finding relief._

" _Three days? Three days! This man wants us to murder someone and bring back a human soul in three days, or – "_

" _Try not to announce it so flamboyantly, I'd like to avoid making more of a scene," Arthur interrupted apathetically, still sitting on the steps leading down from the tavern where they had finally found the old man, Falion, they had been told could cure his malady. Unfortunately, it was a rather morbid and assembly-required type of job._

" _Arthur, we don't have to do this, we'll find another way."_

_The mage finally cracked and lowered his hand to glare up at the hovering mercenary. "Unless you're offering your curse instead, then you know this is the only way. So which is it?"_

_Alfred sucked in a breath and tensed. Arthur knew his answer even without the man's mortified expression or his words. Alfred would never inflict his curse upon anyone, especially not him._

_The silence confirmed that hadn't changed._

" _Then fall in line or stand aside. I'm not pleased with our options either, but the alternatives are far worse. If we can we will try to find some bandit or even a member of the Silver Hand to trap, but we have to be realistic about our time…it already took a day to get here," he retorted, though he began trailing off towards the end. "Our three days are down to two…"_

_The memory of the struggle in getting out of the mountains was still so fresh. Arthur had been unconscious for most of it, but Alfred had been frantically trying to keep the mage's bleeding under control, as he searched for the nearest human aid around. He had remained in his beastly form to utilize its strength and speed, but it made approaching the town all the more difficult, as no place on Skyrim would readily welcome a werewolf into city limits. Since werewolves always changed back naked, the sight of a nude half-blood carrying a wounded, unresponsive mage hadn't been too much better, but at least no one had tried to outright kill him._

_Arthur hadn't come to until closer to nightfall, and all he could feel was terrible burning pain in his neck and wrist. A cleric, who served as the local physician, had tended to him and gravely diagnosed his condition as_ Sanguinare Vampiris _…and no, he didn't have a cure._

_But he did have a lead: Falion of Morthal._

_It hadn't been much, but Alfred (after obtaining some new clothes) had wasted no time in purchasing two horses and finding someone to point him in the fastest direction of Morthal. Arthur hadn't fared well in the saddle, fighting constant bouts of fatigue and sickness, but Alfred had managed to push him through and get them to their destination by the following morning. Once there, finding the man called Falion hadn't been hard but Alfred had practically yanked the old man from his bed and demanded a cure before introducing himself._

_It didn't matter, though…there was nothing the old man could immediately do to alleviate Arthur's suffering. Learning that there was no magical potion or simple exorcism had been tough to swallow, but worse had been hearing of the actual cure: a trapped human soul within an enchanted black gem._

_Falion had given them the gem, but now they would have to trap that soul themselves._

" _Whiterun is the closest city; chances are that if we don't find someone along the way then we can find someone in the city who won't be missed."_

_Alfred looked sick to his stomach. His face was drenched with sweat and his expression looked pained. Alfred was a mercenary and a werewolf so it wasn't as if he hadn't taken a life before, but dealing in stealing another's soul cut into him deeply. Arthur knew it would hurt because of Alfred's belief in the sanctity of souls…but more than that he knew Alfred blamed himself for the attack that left him like this. It didn't matter that the notion was utterly ridiculous and Arthur took responsibility for his own actions, Alfred's personal guilt was solidified and it made him determined to right his wrong._

_Even if this is what it took…_

" _Whiterun is the home of my mother's people…we'll have to be careful to avoid them. They won't take kindly to us murdering a citizen in their territory, and they'll be even less thrilled that I'm there," Alfred said, having finally accepted the inevitable but unable to meet his companion's eyes._

_The mage watched Alfred's thoughts and fears play over his face and felt his own guilt begin to rise. He swallowed again, fighting a losing battle with the dryness of his throat, and also looked away._

" _No matter what…this will all be over soon." It was all he could manage, because all other words of comfort failed him._

* * *

The horse racing over the frosted ground was a stolen mare from the inn's stables. Alfred hadn't thought twice about saddling the fresh horse and leaving their original two behind as compensation. The mercenary was pushing the horse hard, keeping it galloping at top speed, as he kept one arm wrapped tightly around the mage pressed against his chest.

Arthur was seated in front of him, voluntarily bound and gagged with thick strips of leather to keep him from attacking again if he lost control. Having harmed Alfred had been an unspeakable last straw for the mage, and he forced his companion to take extreme measures before he'd agree to ride so closely to him on the long journey. The bindings were tight and cut into him, making him extremely uncomfortable, and the strip in his mouth tasted terrible, further drying out his already parched throat; but the feeling of enlarged canines scrapping against the leather kept him from complaining.

He was changing even faster after having fed on Alfred and the urge to finish what he'd unintentionally begun was so painfully strong. He fought it, spending most of his energy trying to focus his mind on something other than the two heartbeats pounding in his head, the smell of fresh blood from Alfred and the horse, and the feel of Alfred's life thumping so rapidly against his back.

He was becoming hungrier having tasted the forbidden fruit and needed more. His eyes had turned completely red and his vision kept changing from a world of color to a monochrome place that pulsed with the life forces of potential prey. The sudden changes were making his head spin, and more than once he became so nauseated that he had to bend over Alfred's arm to dry heave. The mercenary never once stopped, not even when Arthur would begin making animalistic sounds of fury and tried snapping at him through the gag. When Alfred was forced to slow the horse over more treacherous terrain or to give it some rest, the smells became far worse for Arthur and his starvation made him savage. Even so Alfred remained stoic, only tightening his hold on the mage when he began to thrash and fight, and eventually Arthur would tire and return to an exhausted state.

Closer to nightfall Arthur became even more relaxed and soon unresponsive. The change made Alfred even more concerned as he finally rode into the clearing just north of Morthal where Falion had promised to meet them.

With the last night of the third day drawing to a close, Alfred wasted no time in taking Arthur into his arms and quickly dismounting the travel-worn horse, racing for the circle of stones ahead. True to his word the old man was there, and Alfred hastily fumbled for the accursed gem in his satchel before handing it over.

Falion studied the pulsing, raven gem closely, seemingly impressed and entranced by the glowing soul within. Alfred felt sick every time he looked at it and urged the man to hurry – they didn't have time for the scholar's curiosity to get the best of him when midnight was soon to pass.

The old man instructed him to leave Arthur bound in the center of the circle then step back. The mercenary did so quickly but aversely, and stood beside Falion as he began his incantations.

Alfred felt a chill race up his spine as the area surrounding the enchanted circle began to trill with the charge of magic. Falion's words seemed to amplify as the power in the air began to increase. As Falion lifted the gem in his hands, Alfred felt his heart sink and had to turn away.

His mother and her people would never forgive him for what he had done. He would never be able to face her or the Companions again without suffering the gravest of consequences for his crime. He closed his eyes and tried not to think about the soul being sacrificed to save his dearest companion…and like Arthur, whom he could hear gasping for breath behind him, he just waited for it to be over.

* * *

The dawn spilling in through the open windows cut straight through his eyelids and into his brain. It triggered a sharp, throbbing headache almost immediately and forced him to roll away from the offensive light and closer to the warm body next to him.

The smell of unwashed male with undertones of wet dog roused him unpleasantly, and he opened his eyes to find the bare chest of a man filling his vision. His brows furrowed…and suddenly it became very important to try and remember what had happened last night.

"Please say this isn't what it looks like."

Alfred startled awake at the sound of Arthur's voice, and when he looked down to find green eyes turning up towards him he sighed in relief. He wanted to wrap his arms around the mage and tell him how grateful he was that the man was mortal again but stopped himself, knowing it would only fluster the Breton. He inhaled deeply and settled for lazily draping his arm across the other's hip. "It can if you want it to be."

Arthur scoffed, but was too drained to remove Alfred's arm and just closed his eyes again as he settled back into the pillow. "My head hurts…"

"Falion said it would. You're anemic, dehydrated…and have technically only been alive for a few hours now," Alfred replied, trying not to remember last night as he also tried not to pull Arthur closer to him in the present. "You'll feel better once you've gotten some sustenance into you."

Arthur didn't say anything as  _he_  tried to remember…but everything after escaping the stables in Whiterun was a blur. Still, his body seemed to remember and he could feel the soreness and exhaustion in every fiber of his being – even his soul felt drained. He doubted he could rise from the bed, let alone cast even a rudimentary spell. He opened his eyes and looked back up at Alfred then, his gaze falling on the hastily applied bandages on his neck…

He remembered the thick taste of Alfred's blood in his mouth, and his tongue throbbed at the memory of his pulse. The shame and revulsion for what he had done returned as well, and he bowed his neck to rest his forehead against Alfred's chest.

Alfred, who had been drifting back to sleep, opened his eyes and looked down at his companion curiously; then felt Arthur's arm come around him in as much of an embrace as the mage could manage. "Thank you."

The mercenary paused for a long time. He wasn't trying to give Arthur a chance to tell him exactly what he was thankful for, he was just trying to absorb the fact that Arthur had said 'thank you' for anything. In the year they had been traveling together, Alfred couldn't recall a single time Arthur had ever sincerely thanked him…

He couldn't say that it wasn't bittersweet, but he couldn't regret what it took to save the mage because he was just so grateful to have him whole again.

The blond warrior leaned down and pressed his lips against Arthur's hair, finally allowing himself to wrap his arms around the other and hold him. He smiled and felt a twinge of happiness when Arthur didn't reject it, and decided to savor the moment just a little bit longer before giving Arthur the chance to regain his dignity.

"Does this mean I'll be getting more sex now?"

"When my strength returns, I'm neutering you."

Alfred just smirked. "Glad to have you back too, Arthur."

_~Fin~_

* * *

_  
_ _Notes from the Author:_

*ORIGINAL NOTES 02/2015* Hello again all, and thank you for reading! This is a project the lovely Pie (Skyootumcrux) and I have been working on for a bit now and wanted to finally let loose on the world. For the record I have never played Skyrim or any of the other Elder Scrolls games, but an introduction to the magnificence of the world, the music and the art was incredibly inspiring. This tale was a challenge at the request of Pie and together we have built an AU APH headcanon within this fascinating world. :) It is our sincerest hope that this marriage of the two worlds was successful and you all enjoy it. We will release more stories in this collection in time, and the rating will go up accordingly as the material gets bolder (yes there will be romance, yes there will be battles, and no we will not be skirting on the bloodier details). Thank you again for taking the time to read this fic and we hope to have more posted soon!

*NEW NOTES* It's been 4 years since Pie and I released our first Skyrim/Hetalia crossover fic, and in that time we've created over 30 Tales (which I will be slowly uploading here), hundreds of pieces of art, been gifted with even more fanfiction from AMAZING fans, and have even had the honor of cosplayers recreate our beloved USUK Skyrim boys. You may have seen some of it on Fanfiction.net or Tumblr, where Pie and I keep personal accounts and an AskBlog (AskSkyrimUSUK). :) We're happy to finally be sharing our AU with AO3, and hope you all will enjoy this project we love so much.

Sincerely,

_Kel_

_&_

_Pie_


	2. Partner

_**Disclaimer:**  I do not own Hetalia or Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim. I am merely a fan who appreciates the ingenious glory of Hetalia's masterful tomfoolery and Skyrim's beauty._

_**Warning:**  Strong Language, Graphic Scenes, Gore and Violence_

**Tale Two Characters:**

**-** England/ Arthur Kirkland

 **-** America/ Alfred F. Jones

 

**~Partner~**

**Tale Two**

" _One for the road_ "

 

_He'd never seen anything like it. In all his years of surviving this world he had never beheld such a terror as the one falling from the sky. He couldn't take his eyes off of the monstrous thing, covered in jagged armor plating the color of the mountain it had surely been born of. Its great horned head alone dwarfed any man or beast he'd ever encountered, and the spines running down its back were the size of Imperial lances, making it look like a living war machine. The colossal serpent was death on massive leathery wings, which spread wide and filtered the fading sunlight to cast a sea of red over the speechless people of below._

_Alfred was one of them, and he couldn't believe what he was seeing when the creature opened its jaws, reared back its head, and rained fire down on the earth._

* * *

He jolted up from the bed, alarmed and gasping for breath, as he threw his arms up in defense of the anticipated attack. Unfortunately, his movements were more than his battered body could handle and he couldn't compensate for the error in time – thus gravity intervened and the floor embraced him.

He hit the deck with a thud and pain radiated from the center of his being outward, causing him to groan and hold his throbbing middle. His muscles felt shaky and weak; his balance was non-existent and his body rebelliously shuddered with tension, as if fighting to hold itself together. He sucked in a breath and struggled to raise himself up with his arms, but the trial proved to be ridiculously difficult.

He wasn't sure where he was or how he got here, but despite his situation he still found himself grateful for not being back on the side of that burning mountain…

"So you lived. The people betting against you will be disappointed to hear."

Alfred froze and tried to place the voice but couldn't. He tried remembering the people he'd gotten to know while traveling with the caravan, but nothing fit. So, when he managed to turn his head enough to look at the man standing over him at the edge of the bed, he found himself…incredibly confused.

The man was just a pin short of average height and wearing the long robes of a magic practitioner. The color of his hair reminded Alfred of dandelions and his skin was just a shade warmer than lily-white. The angles of his face were sharp; from the points of his ears to the tip of his chin, he had very elven bone structure. Even his eyes had that splendid shine and deep flora color indicative of elven descent, but something about his strangely finite presence and humanized scent just made him too mortal. He didn't appear armed or openly threatening, but the scrutiny he was giving him was very unsettling.

Who the hell was this guy?

After a few moments of hesitation Alfred finally asked, "Where am I?"

"In Riften," the man replied, still watching him with barely restrained interest.

"Okay…how did I get here?"

"I brought you."

Alfred frowned, getting pretty annoyed with the short responses. "Did you bring anyone else?"

"No."

"And why is that?" the mercenary asked cantankerously.

The man just smiled and replied, "Limited curiosity."

Alfred paused and stared at the man with an incredulous expression. As the apparent part-elf wasn't offering anything else, Alfred decided he'd probably find out more on his own and tried making another attempt to stand, realizing in the process that he was completely naked. He felt his cheeks flush and did his best to remain as casual as possible…but it just made him look more awkward in trying to maintain some semblance of modesty in his graceless ascent from the floor.

The man watching him offered no help, as Alfred struggled to his knees and finally managed to pull his body up with the use of the bed. However, he still fell short of his goal to stand and only achieved in flopping his upper torso across the straw mattress. He hadn't even accomplished half of his intended objective and was already out of breath. There was no question that he was thankful to be alive…but there was also no denying that his current situation sucked.

"Are you some kind of Daedric lackey?" Alfred asked, trying to fill the silence as he continued struggling to get up.

"Do you often expect to encounter them?" the man returned, raising his pronounced eyebrows just enough to let Alfred know the question had somewhat amused him.

Alfred gave his host a suspicious look and finally managed to at least get up into a sitting position on the bed. Dear gods, he was beat. "Not really, but you seem like the type with how high and mighty you come off. Most Daedric lackeys I've met have grand delusions that they're secretly ordained netherworld jarls."

"Do they also make a habit of saving your life?" the man inquired, folding his hands behind his back and not looking too terribly concerned about his patient's state.

Alfred had to admit that the guy had a point. Daedric servants, much like their masters, were self-serving jackwads, who'd sooner sell out their own mothers for a chance at power. He'd never known of any demons offering rewards for saving people, especially not people like him: a cursed, half-blooded sellsword. So then what was this fella's game? Alfred considered himself a pretty good guy, but even he knew that nothing in this world was free.

"Okay, so you're likely  _not_  in league with...Daedra. But would you mind explaining who you are and why you only saved me from…well, I'm assuming from what was left of the group I was with?" Alfred asked, giving up on standing and now just trying to hold himself up on the bed.

The man sighed, beginning to look more than a tad bored. "Since I don't anticipate keeping your acquaintance after today, I shall only introduce myself as Arthur and assure you that my reasons for saving your life are limited to my interest in knowing how you survived the dragon attack and ask which way the creature was heading."

Silence fell between them and this time Alfred made no effort to dispel it. He sat motionless before his gaze fell to the floor.

A dragon? That's what that  _thing_  had been? That horrible being was really the stuff of legends? In his childhood when his mother had been lucid enough, she would tell him the tales of dragons and the fabled rebellion the people of Skyrim had waged against them in the name of freedom. Most kids in Skyrim grew up on the ballads and folktales about the coldblooded overlords, who ruled from the skies above the world. The questionable legacy of long since passed kings left the youth of man wondering what the glory of conquering such a monster would be like, while the old used dragons as metaphors to teach lessons in humility. Dragons did not exist outside of songs and proverbs, because modern reality had no other place for them.

He wasn't as young and gullible as to believe a dragon was the reason his group had been wiped from the map and him nearly with them. He shook his head and glared at his host, believing the man was trying to make fun of him. "I don't know what that thing was, but you weren't there and couldn't know either. Dragons don't – "

"It came out of the sky, didn't it? A giant scaly creature, with a body that would make the largest of mammoths seem trivial and a probable wingspan of over 180 meters? I imagine its eyes were red, as I have yet to encounter any different, and it breathed fire as though its lungs harbored furnaces fit for hell," Arthur interrupted impatiently, returning Alfred's new look of astonishment with one of exasperation. "I didn't have to be there to know what left that mess behind, though I will extend that the most obvious clue was the giant fang I found impaling you."

Alfred's eyes immediately widened and he quickly looked down at his body, where the only dressing he could see was a clean linen wrap about his stomach. Without thinking he quickly clawed at the binding, tearing it off and stopping when he could see the fiery red indent just below his sternum.

The mark was wide and deep, with the shades of red softening as they progressed away from the center. His skin crested at the edges of the wound and terribly discolored veins spidered out beneath his still healing flesh. He tentatively touched the mark with his hand, feeling how unnaturally hot it was and how he felt a similar tenderness in his back. He had been run through before with swords, spears and even claws…but this felt like nothing else he had ever experienced. With no way to logically explain the injury…he was left terrified of the other illogical possibilities.

When he looked back up to the man called Arthur, he realized explaining the wound's origin was the least of his worries now.

As if reading the other's thoughts, Arthur relaxed his tone. "This information would not go beyond me. I answer to no one but myself and will leave once I am satisfied. I ask for no other compensation than this."

Alfred didn't answer for a long time, but his demeanor had become very cautious and his eyes guarded. Arthur tilted his head while examining him, finding the change even more intriguing. Clearly he had touched on a sensitive subject and that just made the anticipation all the greater. Alfred saw the reflection of the other's growing excitement and, just like that, having saved his life wasn't enough for his secret.

"I'm grateful for what you've done and assure you I'm not a man who skips out on his debts…but I'm going to have to ask you to accept another form of payment."

Alfred watched as twinges of the man's impatience returned, but Arthur quickly resituated his mask and persisted, "There is nothing else I need of you."

Alfred thought about this and nervously reverted to an old habit of running a hand through his hair. "I'm a mercenary by trade and I was with that convoy to help protect it. Its fate aside, I never left my post or the cargo and was still fighting before I…passed out. I'm not bragging when I say that you'd be hard pressed to find a free agent as good as I am, and you can get a reference from nearly anyone in the business. The name's Alfred of Rorikstead, if you want to ask around."

"Believe me, I already have and I don't need to hire the services of a mercenary," Arthur bit back, his pleasant façade dissolving. "I just want to know how you survived and which way the dragon went, then I'll be on my way."

Alfred was suddenly very nervous upon hearing that this stranger had gone ahead in learning about him while he'd been unconscious, but swallowed his anxiety and refused to budge on his position. "Look, accept that I'm not going to tell you what kept me alive and that I don't know what way that  _thing_  got off to. I don't even remember getting impaled!" Alfred exclaimed.

The mage looked furious now and moved his hands to grasp the footboard of the bed, his knuckles turning white as they tensed. "I didn't save you out of the kindness of my heart, but you still owe me your life nonetheless. I already did my research on who you are and know you've a reputation for being an honorable man, so I want information in exchange for the debt and I could not be any clearer. I said that whatever you have to say will not go beyond me and I meant that. Now tell me what I need to know and let us be done with this."

The half-blood scowled and appeared less than impressed with the attempt to intimidate him. Still, he recognized that he was in an ethical bind. Alfred hated feeling backed into a corner, and figured it was time to make Arthur share some of his distress.

"Alright, fair enough," he began, causing Arthur to eye him even more intently now that it appeared he might be getting somewhere. "You saved my life and just want to talk…that's fine. But I think you assume much more about me than you should and that my information really is worth just my life alone, because it's not."

Arthur's eyes narrowed, as he seemed to be trying to decipher Alfred's meaning. Finally, without taking his glare from the other, Arthur began probing, "Oh, so you believe it's worth more than that."

"A secret like mine has more than just my life depending on it, and I don't have the right to share it if it means betraying those other lives. A pact far older than the one I inadvertently made with you has much greater value and I will uphold it. That said, I still intend to honor whatever debt I have with you…but we're going to have to settle it some other way – alright?"

Alfred could see the mage's mind at work, and discovered an anxious tell he didn't think Arthur meant for him to know. The man's jaw was locking and unlocking over and over again, his grip on the footboard was subtly tightening and relaxing, before eventually the man went completely still. Alfred was trying to analyze whatever was going through the man's head, but his mask was back on and he looked much more composed. For some reason this made Alfred more uncomfortable than seeing the mage's obvious displays of discontentment.

"It seems, Alfred of Rorikstead, that we are at an impasse," he began, sounding much flater than before. "In light of this and my lack of time to argue with you further, I absolve you of your debt and now consider you a waste of my time."

Alfred looked as though he'd been struck with a hot coal and watched the mage turn on heel for the door. "Hey, wa-wait a second, that's not how this – "

Alfred never got to finish his sentence before Arthur exited the room and slammed the door behind him, leaving the mercenary slack-jawed and staring in disbelief. He wasn't sure what he had been expecting the mage to say, but this certainly hadn't been it.

The mercenary let out a string of curses and tried to push himself off the bed but it was no use. His arms supporting him gave out and he fell back onto the bed with boneless exhaustion. The sudden change in elevation disoriented him, leaving him lightheaded and his vision blurred. He felt sick and a groan escaped him, his body forcing him to stop fighting and rest so it could finish recovering…

It would take at least another day if he remained in this human body, but he hated using his other one and couldn't risk someone finding him like that. He managed to open his eyes and look at the faded outline of the door again…and surrendered. He needed to heal and this form would have to do, so the mage would get a day's head start on him.

Unfortunately for this man Arthur, he would need much more than just a day to disappear from a guy like him.

* * *

After seeing the sprawling metropolises of Skyrim, from the towering heights of Windhelm to the ancient spires of Winterhold, a place like Ivarstead seemed like a journey back in time. The small homestead was rural but clean, and home to the sort of people who harvested honestly and gave genuinely. Life in the valley was modest and the people relied as much on the mountain streams to bring life as they counted on the earthen peeks surrounding them for protection. Timber was plenty, the soil was rich and game blanketed the land. This place was the living embodiment of humility and peace.

For a man like Arthur, it was simply a place to rest for the night before moving on to more important things.

After having left Riften shortly after reaping the nonexistent benefits of wasted efforts, Arthur had saddled his horse and started off on his journey west to Falkreath. Now that his business in the southeast had concluded, he needed to get back on track finding the scrolls of power and the dragon that continued to elude him. He had tried searching for the beast en route, but the venture just slowed him down and he begrudgingly abandoned it.

That seemed to be becoming the pattern of late.

After having paid a stable hand to tend to his horse, Arthur entered the only traveler's establishment in town to rent a room for the night. But upon approaching the barkeep to exchange his coin for an evening's rest, the women thumbed over to a man leaning against the fireplace and announced that the tab had already been paid.

Arthur stared at the other traveler, who seemed to be smirking at the mage's obvious disbelief, and his eyes narrowed when the other gestured with his head for him to come closer. He wisely hesitated and continued sizing up the man before even considering any advance.

This was the first time he had seen his former patient on his feet (and clothed). Without anemia draining his color it was obvious that the man was a half-blooded mix of Nord and something less than winter-born. He was tall with the fair features of the northern warrior race, but his skin had the lightly sun-kissed quality of something Imperial. He was dressed in a combination of ill-matched chainmail and plate armor, a large two-handed sword strapped to his back, and another short sword sheathed at his hip. However intimidating his attire might have been, the effect was lost when looking at the man's youthful face and irritating smile. It was his annoyance with the latter, and for the sake of curiosity, that Arthur approached looking about as pleased as he felt.

He was already beginning to see what a pest this git was going to be.

When Arthur got close enough to keep their conversation between them, he glared up at the mercenary and hissed, "You have no reason to be here."

Alfred just smirked again and lightly shrugged, keeping his arms crossed and his air causal. "The innkeeper in Riften said you had paid for a week's worth of rent while tending to me, so I owe you a week's worth in turn."

Arthur snorted and gave the other an unmoved look. "I released you of your ridiculous obligations, as you are of no use to me. I am perfectly capable of paying for my lodging myself."

The mercenary nodded in affirmation, but his expression never changed. "I am well aware, but as  _I_  said before, that's not how debts work. You don't have to accept or even acknowledge my help, but I'm honor bound to give it. Until we're even just know that I'll be a few steps behind…or in front in this case, to pay you back."

The unfathomable audacity and persistence of this man was beyond logical comprehension. Arthur found himself flabbergasted and speechless about how to drill the simple concept that he wanted to be left alone into this buffoon's head. He wanted to forget ever having stopped on that mountain pass, where he found his newest object of failure to remind him that dying men should be left to die.

He hadn't learned anything new about how to better survive challenging the dragons darkening the skies, and he hadn't gained any new insight about powers that might help him in his quest. He had no new leads on where the next servant of Alduin might show up and he had nothing to show for the time and septim he spent saving some naked survivor of an attack. Time was a luxury he really didn't have, and this man was living proof that what little he did have had been invested poorly.

This man was a reminder he did not want or need.

"Enjoy your room for the evening, I think I prefer boarding with my horse tonight," Arthur said with finality, turning on heel just as he did in Riften and preparing to go.

That was, until Alfred's booming voice stopped him. "You're a Breton."

Arthur froze to a stop and the barkeep poked her head in from around the corner. The mage stared at her before she noticed and ducked back behind the wall. It forced Arthur to take a deep breath before turning back to the mercenary with the promise of death on his face. "What the hell are you trying to do?"

Alfred ignored the question and the look, but his expression softened. "At first I really thought you might have been just a half-blood like me, but you're as pure-blooded as they come. The elf in you doesn't have the same ancient feel to it, and your musk is soaked in too much magical essence to be human. I figured it out and then realized where you were going…and it really isn't a good idea to be a Breton traveling this close to The Reach."

The mercenary's eyes focused in on the other's jaw and hands clenching again and he knew he'd struck a nerve. Alfred watched as thoughts of murder echoed behind the mage's narrowed eyes, but he also saw some semblance of reason warring within him. The Breton wouldn't be able to deny that what he had said was so very true.

It had only been twenty years since the Nord Ulfric Stormcloak, now leader of the rebellion in this civil war, had usurped the native Bretons from their rule over the rich lands of The Reach and left generations of hate on both sides still fighting over the area. Some would say that the Bretons were even more unwelcome in Nordic lands than the Imperials, but at least under the pretense of being just a half-blood, one might gain safe passage. Still, if a true Breton failed and was found out…most Nords would quickly assume relation to the violent Forsworn clans and condemn without considering otherwise. There were punishments far worse than death in rural Nordic societies, and anyone with loyalty to the Stormcloaks wouldn't think twice about subjecting a possibly hostile Breton to them.

Arthur looked away for a moment, staring hard at the ground before shooting a glance behind him to make sure the woman wasn't still eavesdropping on them. Judging by her reaction Arthur could guess that his kind was seen suspiciously, even in these parts. Bretons didn't often travel outside of the protected borders of High Rock, especially in the direction of The Reach separating it from the rest of Skyrim. He had gotten away with passing himself off as half-human thus far...but if this man from an insignificant place in the Whiterun region could peg him as a Breton, then what were the chances that Nords of The Reach on the lookout for his kind wouldn't?

He took another breath through his nose and glowered up at the mercenary again. "You're cleverer than I thought, I'll give you that. You even seem to know a thing or two about the politics of ignorant societies," Arthur began, and suddenly his voice hardened and dropped to a low hiss. "But make no mistake, I do not tolerate threats – I eliminate them. I saved your life once and will not hesitate to rectify my mistake the second I see you as a danger to me."

For once the mercenary's expression was serious and he dipped his head in a respectful gesture. "For until such time as my debt is repaid, I swear that my silence and my loyalty are yours."

Arthur never took his eyes from the man and dissected his words and his face for any strings or falsehoods attached to his promise. He continued trying for several moments in the silence between them but he could find nothing. The man seemed as frustratingly sincere as he was annoyingly tenacious, and finally Arthur broke their gaze and nodded. "Fine."

However unwillingly he'd been accepted, Alfred took it with a huge grin and couldn't stop himself from giving the mage a hearty clap on the shoulder. He ignored the indignant protest that uncharacteristically squeaked out of the Breton's mouth, and merrily yammered on ahead. "Fantastic! I'm glad we've got this settled, Arthur, so let's start this partnership off right, shall we?"

The half-blood formally extended the hand Arthur had contemptuously shoved off of him and offered the mage a charismatic smile. "The name's Alfred of Rorikstead, son of Fiametta Relictus, student of Harbinger Kodlak Whitemane, and freelance mercenary for hire."

Arthur didn't seem to be in any mood for delayed formalities and scoffed, "Stop being ridiculous and leave me be for the rest of the night. This is only a temporary arrangement and I have no intentions of becoming accustomed to you."

Alfred didn't seem discouraged, but did look a bit perplexed as Arthur began stalking towards the hall leading to the private quarters. "Oh, we're going to bed already? I haven't even bought you a drink first."

Arthur stopped at that and threw a flippant look over his shoulder. " _I'm_ going to bed. If you so much as come near my room I will not hesitate to set you on fire," he stated before leaving one last warning. "Do not tempt me."

He left Alfred alone in the common room without another word and the mercenary flinched as he heard the door around the corner slam.

He sighed and shifted his weight to his other foot, putting one hand on his hip and running the other through his hair, secretly grateful that sleep...wasn't really something he needed to often. The barkeep returned in a frazzled state and looked to her only other patron with wide eyes.

"Oh gods, I thought he was seriously going to kill you," she whimpered breathlessly, truly looking frightened within an inch of her life.

Alfred just blinked and smiled. "Nah, don't worry about him. I've never met a person that didn't warm up to me at some point, and I can tell he'll be one of the ones who comes around in no time!" he said, taking a more confident demeanor before making his way back over to the bar. "Though if you've got a drink, I could use one. Hah, I may need some for the road too."

**~Fin~**

* * *

_Original Notes from the Author (2015)_ :

Ladies and gentlemen, another warm welcome from Pie and me~ ;w; Though this is "Tale Two", it's actually before the official "Tale One" in the timeline (i.e. chapter one). This collection is not likely to be in order, but the stories will all be cohesive to this A.U. We hope you all have enjoyed this newest addition and continue to enjoy our A.U. The next chapter will have more explicit content, so fair warning. :) We hope it'll be worth sticking with us!

Sincerely,

 _General Kitty Girl_  /  _Kelbora_

_&_

_Pie_


	3. Inner Beast

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia or Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim. I am merely a fan who appreciates the ingenious glory of Hetalia's masterful tomfoolery and Skyrim's beauty.

 **Warning:** Strong Language, Body Disfigurement, Graphic Scenes, Gore and Violence. Please be aware, while there are no graphic depictions of the events surrounding Alfred conception it was an act of rape. We will not now, nor will we ever detail the moment. Reader discretion is always advised.

**Tale Three Characters:**

**-** America/ Alfred F. Jones

 

**~Inner Beast~**

**Tale Three**

" _The change is inevitable_ "

 

It wasn't a sudden event, but crept up on him like a conniving specter that would vanish whenever he glanced over his shoulder. He awoke the morning the haunting came to a head with a terrible dryness in his throat, as though he had swallowed sand in his sleep and it had pooled into a thick mud in his stomach. His skin felt warm and prickly, making him itch and writhe uncomfortably in the bed, as he had done nearly all the previous night. The boy rarely slept as it was, but recently he could barely remember what any kind of rest was like. His mother had watched over him worriedly all week, trying to uncover the source of his malady but was left empty with no knowledge of how to remedy it. Alfred only remembered finding momentary relief in her arms, as she hummed him lullabies and stroked his hair.

He always felt warm and safe in her embrace, believing that the terrible spirit plaguing him couldn't penetrate the barrier of love her presence casted. She was the strongest woman he knew, unshakable and always there. Her touch was like magic, dispelling nightmares and righting every possible wrong in the world. There was no safer place in all of Nirn than home and tucked beneath his mother's chin, with her arms around him. Her smell calmed him, her voice soothed his fears and her honeyed eyes always made him smile. He was young but knew that the world had not been kind to his wonderful mother, and even so she was never unkind to him.

But something growing inside of him wasn't so benevolent, and it had chosen the moment his mother had gone to manifest itself.

It started just as Alfred tried to get out of bed to find water to alleviate the dryness in his throat. He had only managed to put his feet on the floor when the unexplainable kick slammed into his ribcage from within. He gasped, hitting the floor and holding his chest, feeling his heart racing and trying to beat its way out of his body. He was suddenly sweating and shaking, his eyes wide and petrified as another kick nearly smashed through his sternum and made him cry out in pain.

He turned himself over onto his back when it happened again, causing his body to arch off the floor before harshly dropping back down. He tried to call out for help but couldn't catch his breath. His muscles all seemed to seize at once, forcing his body to stiffen before becoming boneless moments later. The boy found himself too terrified to move for fear of inciting another attack. He lay still, breathing fast, staring at the wall and shaking, as tears poured down his face. His heart wouldn't relax; in fact he could feel it beating even faster and his temperature increasing to a frightening degree. He was curled up in a pool of sweat now, unable to calm any part of himself and a sob escaped him.

Then he said her name. It came out so weakly, like a prayer from the dying. "M-mom – "

The scream that erupted from his throat next was ear shattering. His blood had reached a boiling pitch, exploding his veins and burning holes in his flesh. His bones began to fracture and spear the surrounding muscle, which ruptured before suddenly reforming into a newly mutated shape around the alien structures growing beneath. His spine began to twist and lengthen, shooting out of his back and causing the new vertebrae to shred his skin. A leathery pelt began to spread over his body, before coarse hairs began to burst from his pores, clustering and expanding the holes. He screamed and thrashed on the floor and abruptly his screams became inhuman screeches, bellowing from his swelling throat.

Something was trying to tear its way out of him, and Alfred couldn't help himself from raking his newly clawed fingers all over his body – not caring that he was slicing through what was left of his human flesh, as the  _thing's_  began flowing over him. The noises coming out of him were more frightening than the feeling of lava-like blood pouring out of him. He felt like his skull was splitting itself apart, causing fluid to drain from his enlarging ears and bloody foam to spill from his elongating snout. His face was reforming and he could feel every agonizing phase of the process, making the shrieks even louder and more than once he seized and bashed his head against the saturated floor to try ending the pain.

Soon the world crashed over him in a crescendo of noise and smells, and the night became all too bright. His vision had become a near monochrome kaleidoscope of sharp images that continuously pulsed and blurred, with a meaningless foreground that nauseated him. All motion had finally ceased and he lay there panting and disembodied. Nothing felt like himself anymore but for the pain…which was all his, but slowly began ebbing away into a dull ache.

The echoes of foreign movement behind him barely reached his notice, but the vibrations of it up his spine made his stomach clench. He willed his hand to move and felt it obey too far away from him; even his legs felt wrong where they remained tucked beneath him. Everything was so heavy, but eventually he managed to raise his head enough to see the open door and suddenly it was all he could focus on.

Tendrils of light wavered in the air and over the floorboards in the other room, pulsing stronger and stronger, and instantly the alien ears atop his head shifted to focus in the light's direction. His intense need to decipher this incredible phenomenon alerted all kinds of senses, and his nostrils filled with the scent of something that made ice pool in the pit of his stomach. Fear coiled inside of him and his eyes widened, as the thick hairs covering him rose up along his neck and back. The electrifying feeling brought on by the tension made him even more anxious and his body began pushing up against the floor on its own.

In that moment the pulsing seemed to explode and someone burst into his room; the figure of a person radiating with blinding light froze him on the spot. He wanted the light to go away so he could focus on the person's face, but he couldn't stop staring at the center of the being where the most frantic pulse was coming from. He smelled something coming from the individual then – a sharp acrid smell that reminded him of unwashed horse and stale hay…and for some reason it was exciting him.

The being took a few slow steps towards him and Alfred felt his hackles rise again, before his lips curled back and another inhuman noise escaped him. The sound rumbled through his body and immobilized the being, but now that the person was closer he could smell something else…

Sandalwood and amber…his mother.

Something inside of him broke and without any control over what he was doing he turned to the window and leapt through it, bursting the wooden shutters apart and hitting the ground, racing as far from home as he could.

He didn't get much farther than the field before his senses overwhelmed him again, crashing into him with too much information to take in at once. The smells of the grass underfoot, the trees around him and the tantalizing acrid smell of before coming from pulses of light fleeing in every direction…His eyes kept trying to lock on to every bit of movement in his field of vision; all the while his ears were swiveling nonstop to capture every minuscule sound, from the pounding of hooves to the river close by.

He was hyperventilating again, which only pulled in more smells that his mind couldn't handle. He began unleashing more demonic screams of frustration and lashed out at the earth with hands too large to be his own.

He didn't understand! He couldn't understand any of it and he couldn't contain the incredible energy inside of him. He was terrified, furious and suddenly starving. The mud feeling within him was gone and now all that was left was emptiness and a craving for something warm and smelling of…

Fear.

His lips curled and his ears folded back against his head again. His snout had been low to the ground in the crater he had made, but was now rising and trying to focus in on the strongest of the sour, intoxicating scents he first recognized in the house.

His pupils dilated when he found it, his eyes gravitating towards the horse fighting its rider and preparing to flee in the distance. It was all he wanted now; the only thing that would make the cravings go away and satisfy the hunger….

He tore off after his prey and never looked back at the woman screaming his name.

* * *

He woke up wet and naked, but surprisingly not cold. Even with the meager blanket wrapped around him he didn't feel the bite of winter's chill where he lay on a foreign stone floor. There was a lot of noise around him, but thankfully none of it was as sharp as it had been before. All of his senses seemed to have returned to normal and he couldn't be more thankful, but he was still so drained…

"He is a danger, Fia, he came into the  _city_. He killed two people and was seen by scores of others!"

"And you would blame him for that? You would blame  _every one_  of us who has drawn blood during the first change?" his mother demanded, sounding more furious than Alfred had ever heard her.

"Not all of us nearly caused a massacre our first time," a man snarled from somewhere beyond him, and suddenly there was a loud smack that echoed through the room.

Alfred could feel the tension in the air and the temperature rising. The sensation of it crawling over his skin scared him and made him curl tighter into a fetal position, hiding his head beneath the blanket.

"Forgive him, Fiametta…he was out of line, but nothing can be gained by us fighting amongst ourselves. We need to deal with this calmly and rationally…though I know this is difficult to ask," came the reasonable voice of what sounded like a weary old man.

The atmosphere was still heavy with animosity, but it was quieter now. Alfred still didn't want to come out of hiding, but he was wide awake and worried about his mother.

"None of us knew he carried our blood. It is rare children conceived from those of The Circle even survive the early stages of pregnancy, so there has never been a situation where we have had to deal with a sudden change in one so young. But now that it has happened we must do something to ensure that what transpired tonight does not occur again…until the boy has this under control, I feel it would be best for him to remain here."

Alfred felt his heart seize and a low, monstrous growl from above him resonated in his chest. "You are  _not_  taking my son."

Someone else was moving closer, but then the being above him (someone he now knew was his mother) drew even closer and stopped him. "Fia, I have to agree with Kodlak on this one. You've only just become able to control yourself and know nothing of teaching new inductees."

"Then I will learn, but I am not leaving my son here with  _any_  of you," she countered dangerously, the inhuman growl escaping her again and forcing the other to back off.

Alfred felt a wash of relief and the considerable fear lessened a bit at his mother's unspoken promise that they would be going home – together. He didn't recognize the voices of any of these people and had no idea where he was. One of them had accused him of being a danger…of killing someone! But he didn't remember doing any of that; he never would have done any of that! He wanted to forget that the whole of this night had ever happened and just go home. He only wanted his mother to hold him, stroke his hair and whisper to him that everything was all right. His body felt so heavy and sore; for once he just wanted to sleep undisturbed. The terrible restlessness and discomfort had finally stopped and he was exhausted. His mom would take him home and make things right…she always did.

"Fia, my friend…please consider Kodlak's wisdom. I fear for the both of you if you do not."

That voice Alfred did recognize. It was his mother's best friend and the only other person he really knew in his life. Ilfhil was a Nordic warrior – a bit rough around the edges but he had always been a caring person, who enjoyed regaling him the grand adventures she had had. Alfred could listen to her stories for hours, dreaming of championing such similar feats and seeing the amazing places she had. Ilfhil was a frequent visitor and Alfred was always so glad for it; he enjoyed it most when she would take him out into the woods and teach him skills, like tracking and how to use a bow and arrow. But neither of them, not even Ilfhil, was as good an archer as his mother. His mother had a gift, Ilfhil had said, and Alfred hoped to have inherited it. He practiced with his archery and swordsmanship daily and never stopped daydreaming and envisioning himself as something great someday. But even then he often found himself bored and lonely…

Ilfhil and his mom never took him to the city of Whiterun on the other side of the river. Ilfhil would never disobey his mother's strict rule that he be kept out of the city and his mother never risked taking him herself, citing that she feared he could get hurt, looked down upon for his clearly mixed blood, or stolen. Alfred had always thought it was a silly fear, but he guessed he couldn't really be upset with her about it anymore. These angry people…really did sound like they were trying to take him away, and the thought scared him.

Why couldn't they just go home now?

Alfred hadn't noticed the silence until his mother spoke again, and the heartbreak and anger of her tone made his own heart sink. "You would turn against me too…fine."

No less than a breath passed before Alfred felt himself being lifted up into her arms. He immediately tucked his head against her and squeezed his eyes tightly shut, feeling so grateful she was there and taking him home. She seemed aware that he was awake and held him tighter before shooting the others in the room a parting warning over her shoulder. "If any of you come anywhere near him I will kill you…that goes for all of you."

No one tried to stop her and Alfred kept himself blind to all around him…and untangled his arms enough to wrap around his savior taking him away from this awful place. "I'm sorry, mom."

Alfred felt her lips against his temple and her breath shuddering against the side of his face. She had been so strong while defending him, but now Alfred could feel her trembling. She had been just as frightened as he had been after all…

"I love you, Alfred. It is I who am sorry for failing you."

* * *

 

After that night, Alfred remembered how much worse his mother became. It was as if the illness that had plagued him had latched onto his mother and begun eating away at her sanity. Alfred had vaguely understood before that his mother suffered from what she had always called a "condition", but after that night she confessed to him that it was the same condition that had caused his episode. It scared him, but he tried not to show it when he saw the terrible guilt she couldn't hide. He saw it every time she looked at him, every time the terrible discomfort and pain from fighting the change would overcome him, and every time he longingly looked out the window and she knew he was thinking about Ilfhil. He tried so hard to remain upbeat and hide his anguish from her but she always knew…and it was killing her inside.

A few months passed and her condition worsened. In her efforts to help her son fight his changes she had fought her own as well. Alfred was feverish and sickened nearly every day, unable to eat most of the time and his mother not eating because her guilt ruined all appetite. Her own beast she had come to terms with years ago was getting restless and she felt it, she could feel the monster lurking inside her every hour of every day, and in trying to beat its way out of her it was slowly deteriorating her body. When Alfred could, he begged her to take care of herself and relieve the stress of containing the beast – something he was growing very familiar with – but she wouldn't leave his side because she knew Alfred's monster didn't dare rise for fear of her.

Her curse was his now, and she could never forgive herself for what was happening to him.

Finally, the day came when Ilfhil returned. She came under the promise that she was there to assist in any way she could and not to take Alfred back to the Companions' hall in Whiterun. But when Fiametta finally allowed her to see the boy she could not believe how bad things had become. Alfred was covered in self-inflicted scratch and bite marks from when the animal within would cause him such distress that he fought to let it out, but Fiametta always stopped it for fear of what would happen if he changed. Having fought the changes had made the boy delirious and even in his most lucid moments he was exhausted to a near catatonic state. Ilfhil begged her friend to see reason, to remember her own first times and how fighting the transformations only made the monster more destructive when it came, but Fiametta would relent. She thought with the mind of a mother who could not bear to see her child in pain any more than she could stomach the thought of him turning into a monster that had already murdered two people. She feared the citizens of the nearby city connecting him with the incident and marching up to her doorstep for her son's head. She could not and would not allow it, even if it cost her her health to save Alfred's.

For that reason, and knowing that Fiametta could not be negotiated with…Ilfhil returned a few days later with Kodlak Whitemane and several other Circle members. The former Imperial commander did not relinquish custody of her son without a fight, and it took Ilfhil and several warriors to control her. Her deteriorated state caused her to fight irrationally and ultimately fail, and she could do nothing when Kodlak stepped out of her house with Alfred wrapped up in his arms.

Alfred had been barely conscious through it, but he remembered hearing his mother shrieking and calling out his name. He wanted to help her…to at least answer her, but he couldn't physically work up the energy and the man holding him had such a tight grip.

He thought he heard the old man say he was sorry, but he couldn't be sure any more than he was of seeing his mother vanish beneath a mass of black fur...and rage.

* * *

_Original Notes from the Author (2015)_ :

Hello everyone~ On behalf of Pie and myself, I would first like to thank everyone on dA and Tumblr for the amazing reception this crossover story has received. ;w; We are both very flattered and highly encouraged by the positive feedback and hope to be releasing more quest-oriented stories and artwork soon. We are excited about continuing to build this project and thank you all once again for joining us. ^^ We hope you all enjoy what we have in store next!

A few quick notes for this more character and less story oriented chapter:

-Kodlak Whitemane, the Companions and The Circle are all Skyrim oriented. Kodlak Whitemane is the de facto leader/"harbinger" of the Companions Guild based in the city of Whiterun, and The Circle is an elite group within the guild whose members are all carriers of Lycanthropy (the curse/disease that turns them into werewolves). Once again, I have never played Skyrim and will never claim to be right 100% of the time or ever close to being a rudimentary authority on the idiosyncrasies of the game – but I have done great amounts of research and received help from Pie in trying to make the Skyrim references as accurate as possible. I did take artistic liberties with some of the finer detailed concepts mentioned here in regards to werewolves in the game, but the bases behind the three elements at the top of these notes were made to be as true to form as possible.

-Ilfhil and Fiametta -- there is a long history between the two, but in short: Ilfhil was close friends with Fiametta while Fia was an Imperial soldier from the Imperial city of Solitude. Many events transpired between that time and the present time in this fic, but the main ones include Ilfhil giving Fia the "gift" of Lycanthropy and Fia not taking well to the changes. Fia spent her earliest days as being a werewolf under the care and supervision of members of The Circle, and her relationship with Ilfhil was greatly dampened by resentment Fia felt for the Lycanthropy and Ilfhil's guilt for how horribly what she had perceived as a gift was hurting her friend. Eventually Fiametta attempted to return to the Imperial city to get her life back, but the early days of Skyrim's brewing civil war (of the main storyline) brought the man that would eventually father her son into her life. It was mentioned in the first fic that Alfred was the product of a wartime rape, and that his father was a Nord while his mother was an Imperial. There will be another fic detailing more about Alfred's father later, but for now all I can say was that he was a Nord, a Stormcloak, and a total douche-waffle. Hard to believe he had anything to do with our lovable Al, but Al's mom more than makes up for it. She's a fucking amazing woman and we look forward to exploring her more later.

;w; Thank you all again for reading and following this collection of stories. We hope to have more up soon!

_Sincerely,_

_General Kitty Girl / Kelbora_

_&_

_Pie_


	4. Helgen

_**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia or Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim. I am merely a fan who appreciates the ingenious glory of Hetalia's masterful tomfoolery and Skyrim's beauty._

**Warning:** Strong Language, Graphic Scenes, Gore and Violence

**Tale Four Characters:**

**-** England/ Arthur Kirkland

 **-** America/ Alfred F. Jones

 

**~Helgen~**

**Tale Four**

" _I was once Arthur_ "

 

_The smell of juniper and hay roused him first. The strong scent of unclean man and horse cut through the haze next and forced him to recognize the rocking beneath him. His body ached and his wrists were sore and burning from being rubbed raw. He thought he'd been wearing gloves, ones given to him by his brother before they parted at the border of The Reach…_

_The Reach…it was his first time beyond the realm of High Rock. If he had had the choice he would never have left home..._

_"Hey, you…you're finally awake."_

_The voice was deep and gravelly, and somehow made the world more concrete. His eyes had been open but his vision hadn't been clear until he shook his head and took a deep breath of the frigid air. It felt like his lungs were being cleansed with ice water, making him cough to try and expel the stale breath inside of him, which spirited away in the chilled breeze._

_It was harsh mountain air…nothing like the highlands of home._

_"You were trying to cross the border, right?" the man continued with a thick accent he was having difficulty understanding. "Walked right into that Imperial ambush same as us, and that thief over there."_

_Ambush? Imperials…He tried shaking his head again to clear it, but he still couldn't remember what had happened. He kept clinging to the last image of his brother fading into the distance in the direction of home, never once looking back…but looking back had been all his forgotten half-brother had been left to do. He had never wanted to leave home regardless of how the king and his court had treated him. He had never wanted to leave the only place he had ever known and the only people who had even remotely accepted him. The old pain of knowing he could never return welled inside of him again, and he was lost to the conversation happening around him._

_"You there, you and me…we shouldn't be here," someone said to him._

_No, he shouldn't be. He should be home with his soft blanket and his books, studying beside a warm fire and not freezing to death here in this foreign place…_

_"It's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants!"_

_"We're all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief…"_

_"_ Shut up back there _!"_

_The Breton jumped at the harsh command, breaking away from his thoughts and feeling the wetness in his eyes freeze along with his blood. He was shivering and the odd thought of where his traveling cloak had gone surfaced in the mire. He looked down at himself for the first time and saw nothing but drab linens garbing his slender form and splintering rope tied tightly around his wrists. He was hunched over on a bench, swaying back and forth with the movements of the wagon he'd been thrown in, and surrounded by large men in similar constraints._

_Save for one man, the only one of them gagged and adorned in the rich attire of some kind of official. He looked only slightly roughed up, unlike himself and the other men in the wagon bed, and had an expression of regal calmness on his face that made the outcast wonder if he was even aware of what was going on._

_"Watch your tongue!" came the deeper accented voice again, though this time it was more forceful and bellicose. "You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King!"_

_The Breton's eyes widened, as he turned his head to consider the man beside him again. This man was a king? Was he some kind of political prisoner, now? Why would a king, prisoner or not, be shoved in with unknown rabble like this?_

_Or perhaps…this side of the world truly was as barbaric as he had heard._

_"Ulfric? The Jarl of Windhelm? You're the leader of the rebellion!" the admitted thief exclaimed, sounding suddenly terrified. "But if they've captured you…Oh Gods, where are they taking us?"_

_"I don't know where we're going…" the man adjacent to him began, but soon his tone became softer, even something close to resigned. The Breton turned his eyes from the supposed king to him and felt his heart stop at the large man's words. "But_ Sovngarde _awaits."_

 _His eyes widened and fear coursed through the Breton with every heartbeat._ Sovngarde _was the Nord afterlife he had read about in his books at home. The warrior's paradise was a realm free of mortal frailties and was instead plentiful with drink and companionship. He had never met a Nord before, but had read that it was the ultimate goal of every Nordic warrior to die gloriously and be accepted into the sacred halls of his or her ancestors, where their god,_ Shor _, sought to reward their triumphs eternally._

_The only problem was one had to be a Nord and dead to get there…and he was far more concerned about the dead part._

_"No. This can't be happening…this can't be happening!" the thief moaned, voicing the Breton's thoughts exactly._

_While he became more alert and began searching for any way out of his current situation, the resigned Nord seemed content to reminisce and began talking to the thief again, asking him where he was from and that his final thoughts should rest contently with the memories._

_But he had no pleasant memories of home anymore; home was a place where those who had cast him out dwelt, and they had made it very clear that he would never be welcome there again. His father…no, the man who had only given him his name and raised him had taken everything from him: his title, his birthright, and his family. He had nothing left but the pity of those who believed in his talent and the tools of survival his brothers had given him – where the hell were his things? They hadn't been able to give him much but what they had given him could save him, he was sure of it! If he could just find his cloak and the dagger inside of it –_

_"General, sir, the headsman is waiting!"_

_The coach lurched and he nearly pitched off the bench, but managed to stay up by digging his heels into the planks. His heart was racing again and his panic fueled his quick head motions as he took in his surroundings._

_Oh gods, what did these savages want with him?_

_Crude houses lined a dirt and broken cobblestone street, which the caravan was traveling to Divines knew where. Fair-skinned people with dark hair and features gawked from porches and the roadside to get a better glimpse of the soldiers marching through, and small children tried to get their attention, asking questions to satisfy their morbid curiosity. The sense of urgency to get free was growing, as a massive stone tower came into view standing vigil above a large clearing, where soldiers decorated the space. His breaths became shortened when his eyes befell the sneers and looks of disgust around him; these people clearly had no intentions of mercy on any of them, and he had done nothing to earn their abhorrence but exist._

_The path turned and soon the coachman pulled the horse to a stop, making the wagon jerk again and this time he did fall over the bench. The sudden change had disoriented him and he couldn't stop his body from shaking. The light of the sun above soon became eclipsed and the large Nord looked down at him, his smile being partially between commiserative and chiding._

_"Let's go. Shouldn't keep the gods waiting for us."_

_He had no gods waiting for him, none he was ready to meet yet, and dread flooded him again when someone reached down and yanked him to his feet. The soldier grabbing him was apathetic about how tightly he was grabbing the Breton's already battered body and roughly shaking him about. He was unceremoniously pushed from the cart and hit the ground hard before being jerked back to his feet, then forced to follow the Nord and his king, who wore their fates proudly, while the thief pleaded with the guards._

_He couldn't do anything but submit to the cruel powers propelling him forward, and trembled as more and more indifferent faces passed him by. He couldn't concentrate on the directions being given by a man holding a scroll and calling out names. He didn't realize that one by one the other prisoners around him began moving on and into a throng of waiting soldiers. His wide and terrified eyes only looked up once when he heard the thief scream out his innocence and flee, only to be cut down by a marksman's arrow._

_Then the man with the scroll called out the only name he'd been given in this nightmare…_

_"Hey,_ you _there, step forward."_

_He ripped his eyes from the dead thief in the distance, as the soldier beside him wrenched him into motion and brought him before the magistrate. He stood defenseless and shaking before the man, his mouth and throat drier than his rattling bones as he endured the man's scrutiny before finally being asked, "Who are you?"_

_For a suspended moment he didn't know how to answer. After his mother's final confession on her deathbed he had been left questioning his entire existence; and at her husband's demonization of them both what little had been left of him had been officially stripped away. His family had denounced him, his people had rejected him; his home, his inheritance, even his name had been ripped from him leaving him a barren, nameless soul._

_He was alone, struck from the pages of history out of spite and soon he would be struck from the realm of life all together. He swallowed hard and knew that had he any tears left he would have shed them without concern for the shame…_

_But he had nothing left…not anymore._

_"Arthur," was all he could manage through the tightness in his throat, "I…was once Arthur."_

_The man gave him a final once-over before he began writing something on his scroll. "You from Daggerfall, Breton? Fleeing from some court intrigue?"_

_Arthur didn't answer and the man turned towards the soldier next to him. "Captain, what should we do? He's not on the list."_

_The Breton didn't allow for hope to rise, as the captain looked as indifferent to his plight as the rest of them. She harshly replied that it didn't matter and his fate was unchanged._

_He would go to the block._

_Through the fog clouding his mind and seeping this terrible reality into his pores, Arthur heard the man with the scroll accept his superior's command and try to give him the final kindness he was to receive in this life._

_"I'm sorry. We'll make sure your remains are returned to High Rock."_

_Knowing that there would be no more reception there other than to throw his remains away with the rubbish…Arthur felt something inside himself die._

_He didn't resist as he was grabbed again and ushered to the clearing where the rest of the damned awaited the headsman's custody. His dull eyes never looked up from the ground and his body finally stopped trying to fight the cold and just let it be. He was strangely calm. He felt removed from the moment and wondered if this is what that fallen king beside him had been feeling on the journey here._

_This terrible yawning emptiness…the knowledge that the world would not even pause to remember you when you ceased to be a part of it…_

_He had barely discerned when the atmosphere began to change. Nothing seemed able to penetrate the darkness drowning his mind until the echo of a thunderous cry from the mountaintops began. The world was silent in the lingering wake of the unknown, but for Arthur the sound continued to reverberate inside of him. His head lifted and his eyes immediately turned up to the sky…_

_Something was calling him._

_The last rites of the priest were lost on him and only the crack of the axe colliding with flesh and stone brought him back to what was happening. The head of the prisoner before him fell into the headman's basket and the decapitated corpse was kicked aside. He stopped breathing when the calls for the Breton to go next preceded harsh hands grabbing him again._

_The short walk to the block was lost in the fog, but the repeat of the bellow from above wasn't. His chest tightened as the sound began pulsating inside of him again, but reality slammed back into him when his knees were kicked and his head was pushed down onto the freshly bloodied block. All he could see now was the head of the man who'd been executed before him, until someone grabbed hold of his hair and turned his head towards the axman looming above him._

_He couldn't stop staring as the massive axe was swung back and readied, but then the terrible sound came again and made him gasp, as something inside coiled and burst in an effort to respond to a call he didn't understand. The executioner's blade soon eclipsed the sun and Arthur's eyes turned to the rising head of the horned monster perched atop the stone tower behind it. Gasps, screams and voices filled the air around him, but time had stopped once again and all he could hear was that cry…_

_The crimson eyes of the devil looked down on him and Arthur felt them burrow into his soul. Time, space, and feeling seemed nonexistent, leaving only him and the abomination left in the nothingness…and it smiled._

_His soul knew this creature. His blood knew this creature..._

_And they told him to run._

_The jaws of hell opened and all light in the city vanished into its void. Air was soon gone to fuel the dual furnaces of the fiend, who soon unleashed it back on the world in a torrent of fire._

_Hands grabbed him again, but this time the tightness was in urgency and not hate. He looked up at his savior and this time when the world stopped it had been because of the sky-blue eyes looking back at him._

"ARTHUR!"

* * *

The Breton woke with a start, grabbing the staff beside him and holding it before his being to ward off some potential attack. His eyes were wide and his breaths came fast. The darkness surrounding him was disorienting and on reflex he cast his mage's light and jumped when he saw a man kneeling at the foot of his bedroll.

"Whoa Arthur, whoa,  _whoa_ , it's me! HEY!" the man exclaimed, taking a furious kick right to the face and falling to the ground on his back.

The Breton was absolutely livid and couldn't control his volume. "You incomprehensible  _bastard_! What the  _hell_  is wrong with you?" he shouted, gripping his staff so tightly his knuckles turned white, as his body shook with the aftershocks of fright and rage.

Alfred was muttering his own indignant curses and rubbing his jaw, as he sat up and looked at Arthur as though he were mad. "For the love of  _Shor_ , Arthur, I've been trying to wake you up for ten minutes! You wouldn't stop ripping the blanket apart and flailing around like a rabbit in a snare!"

Arthur blinked away the remnants of his dream and shook his head, finally looking down at the evidence of his companion's claims and finding his blanket in tatters. The shredded fabric covering him bled heavily with feathers, forcing him to confront the reality that his nightmare had broken his subconscious and affected the present…

He stared at the mess a while longer before his shoulders sagged and he hid his face in his hands. The memory of Helgen was so fresh in that moment and only slowly receding back into its place in time. Alfred had recovered and fallen silent at his companion's reaction…and his temper fled him when the mage's light faded and he heard a sob escape the Breton.

The half-Nord didn't know what had so overcome the man in that moment, but when he moved to sit beside the Breton, hesitantly wrapping an arm around him, he was surprised to find that his efforts to comfort the other were not rejected. In the short time he had known him, Arthur had proven to be an abnormally strong and proud person; he'd sooner suffer in silence than share anything with anyone. But Alfred guessed that whatever had plagued the man tonight had been powerful enough that for once he needed more overt support, and Alfred willingly gave it.

The two sat in the darkness and silence. Alfred remained beside Arthur and let him have his time to expel his sorrow and cry. He never asked Arthur what he had dreamt or teased him for his actions the following morning. Arthur had wanted to forget about it and Alfred let him.

But Alfred would remember it, and preserve the memory of the first time he had ever seen such an honest and vulnerable side to Arthur. It was Arthur without all his masks and apathy; it was Arthur without the impenetrable barrier he had erected around himself. What his companion had thought as a moment of weakness…Alfred saw as the truest moment the mage had ever shared with him.

It made him want to protect his former savior and current friend all the more.

**~Fin~**

* * *

_Original Notes from the Author (2015):_

Hello ladies and gentleman, welcome back to the A.U. :') It has been fantastic to see how positively received this story has been and Pie and I hope it continues to do well. :') A special message from Pie: she would like to thank everyone for not only enjoying the story, but also the artwork she has created along with it. We would also like to thank  **Phantommemories**  for her fanart contribution to the story, :D we both greatly appreciated it! If anyone would like to view Pie's art or the fanart  **Phantommemories**  made, the links are on the profile page. ^^

This fic is based on the actual opening of the game, integrating as much of Arthur's backstory in as possible. :) Arthur's character was a tricky one, but I can't say it wasn't fun! We hope to have more of Arthur's story and Al's up at a future time; we also hope to have more updates in general soon. :) Thank you all once again and we hope to have more stories and artwork for you soon!

Sincerely,

_General Kitty Girl_

_&_

_Pie_


	5. Alpha

**Disclaimer:** _I do not own Hetalia or Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim. I am merely a fan who appreciates the ingenious glory of Hetalia's masterful tomfoolery and Skyrim's beauty._

 **Warning:** Strong Sexual Content (M/M) & Graphic Scenes [[Discretion is highly advised]]

**Tale Five Characters:**

**-** England/ Arthur Kirkland

 **-** America/ Alfred F. Jones

 

**~Alpha~**

**Tale Five**

_"You're stuck with me"_

 

The man's mouth tasted heavily of cheap ale and meat, but then again he wasn't sure his own tasted much better. Still, he found himself up against the wall being absolutely ravished as though he were a delicacy, with his devourer's hands groping him everywhere with abandonment. The touches made him moan and the sound only seemed to spur his companion on; not that he was complaining, but the wall really was becoming increasingly uncomfortable.

Arthur wanted to ask if Alfred would let go of his legs long enough for him to actually feel the floor underfoot and resituate himself, but Alfred was doing a pretty good job keeping his mouth occupied. He tried using body language instead, but found that trying to push the rather intoxicated half-Nord away with his pelvis just got him an enthusiastic and misinterpreted return thrust. Clearly this wasn't working.

"S-sod off for a second," Arthur managed between the insatiable kisses and demanding hands pulling him harder. "Alfred!"

The shout seemed to do more than the previous warning and Alfred finally pulled his mouth from Arthur's long enough for them both to breathe. The young man was flushed and panting, his eyes wide and bright with excitement and the buzz of alcohol. Arthur could feel the energy pulsing through the blond's entire body and how tense he'd become in trying to restrain it. It was for that reason, to reward him for his valiant effort, that Arthur did not cause great bodily harm to his balls.

"I would prefer a more comfortable horizontal position for this," the mage began, and sighed upon seeing the lack of comprehension on the other's face. "Bed. Now."

There was still a momentary lag, but without further prompting Arthur felt himself yanked away from the wall and half carried, half drug until he was practically tackled to the lone bed in the room. The mage felt his body nearly crushed between the weight of his companion and the hard wooden frame of the bed, and before he could recover Alfred's mouth was on him again. Arthur knew they were meant to be celebrating but the lad was taking it a bit too far.

It hadn't been long before that the two had arrived in Falkreath chasing rumors that a dragon had been known to prowl the region. Being familiar with the area from his previous incarceration (and near execution) in nearby Helgen, Arthur had taken up the challenge of navigating the mountainous terrain once more in search of another soul to increase his power. He had learned the power of absorbing dragon souls and was now absolutely obsessed with the task. It helped that Alfred had a personal vendetta against the ancient beings and was more than willing to help track and slay the beasts; it helped even more that Alfred felt that he was completely indebted to the mage and swore all but official fealty to him.

Alfred was useful, more so than the Breton would admit aloud, and in having helped slay the dragon plaguing the town, the townspeople (who had taken quite a shine to the charismatic half-Nord and unsociable Breton mage) threw them both a massive celebration.

The two had just finished feasting and drinking to their hearts' content before Arthur let the booze have its way with his judgment and a single, heated kiss had lead them here. The mage had been surprised with what little prompting Alfred needed to take up his lusty invitation, and thankfully the lodging they'd been given for the night hadn't been too far away from the festivities. Arthur was rather grateful for all the noise outside, as he knew the activities in this room would need drowning out to stay private.

With his own robes scattered across the floor and Alfred's hastily removed armor amongst them, Arthur let out a moan when their bare skin pressed together. Alfred's body was all lean and trimmed muscle from years of hard labor and brandishing everything from mighty axes to broadswords. Arthur could even get over the wet-dog smell so long as Alfred kept rocking into his pelvis as he was. Gods, it had been far too long since the last time he'd been with another like this and the thought of Alfred inside of him was driving him crazy – he needed it now.

"Alfred, g-get something to lubricate already," Arthur all but commanded, breathing fast and dragging his nails along the mercenary's back from his position beneath him.

However incredibly aroused they both were at that moment (especially Alfred, and Arthur's breath caught feeling the size of it pressed against his own), the half-Nord's movements slowed, as he seemed desperately trying to think about something. He blinked and shook his head, as if that would help to think past the booze. "Lube…ah, yeah. What…what can we use for that?"

The sexual frustration inside of Arthur was growing by the second, but the mage tried to be as patient as he could and slid his hands up to Alfred's face to hold it. "You don't carry any sort of oils with you?"

Alfred seemed to zone out and thought for a moment. "I've got stuff to oil my leathers."

The frown alone told the half-Nord that that wasn't going to fly and he thought harder. "I have…uh…stuff I use to clean my swords?"

"You are  _not_  putting any of that in me," Arthur stated firmly and tightened his grip on Alfred's face, as he pulled him even closer. "In my robe there is a vial of rose-colored herbal oil. Find it."

Alfred only stayed long enough to nod before springing off the bed and leaving Arthur yelping at a rush of cold sweeping over his body. Both of them were naked and Falkreath was freezing this time of year, making Arthur even more furious that the mood had been broken long enough for him to realize these things.

Alfred, on the other hand, was on a mission. Despite his intoxicated state making graceful maneuverability nigh impossible, and the fact that his rather impressive erection was ruining aerodynamics for him, he dutifully searched every crevasse of the mage's attire for the vial and seemed to find everything but. There were sealed bags of spell components, coins, a few gems he tossed aside; there were clean bandage wraps, small scrolls, and underwear –

" _Alfred,_   _it's in the breast pocket_!" Arthur shouted irately, as he wrapped his arms around his body and curled in on himself. He was so cold his teeth were chattering.

The half-Nord seemed to have had an epiphany and found the correct pocket, withdrawing the vial with the biggest smile on his face, as he pitched Arthur's robe back over his shoulder and swiftly mounted the mage again. He looked puzzled as he beheld Arthur freezing beneath him, but didn't complain when the man quickly yanked him down against him like he was a much-needed blanket.

"H-how d-do you n-never seem to g-get cold?" Arthur asked in between his teeth chattering and his body shaking.

"Oh, my body temperature is naturally higher than most. It's like I'm wearing a fur coat all the time," the blond replied nonchalantly, but seemed to get that Arthur needed some basic-care attention and slid his arms around the man's body to warm him more efficiently.

It took several minutes for Arthur to stop trembling long enough to move his body fluidly, but Alfred (who was sobering fast thanks to his high metabolism) was patient and waited until he felt Arthur roll his hips to press his stiffened cock against him again. Alfred responded in kind with an experimental thrust before kissing the mage's forehead, nose and mouth. He felt much warmer now.

"Ready?"

"Fingers in me,  _now_."

Alfred didn't let anyone but Arthur order him about (within reason), but even if he retracted that privilege he still would have happily complied with pouring the rose-colored oil onto his hand and pushing a finger into the other.

Arthur moaned at the feeling, closing his eyes and tipping his head back as he adjusted to the intrusion and raised his hips up, pushing Alfred's digit in deeper. The move signaled to Alfred to add another and Arthur took it with another moan, even moving his hips faster. It was so incredibly arousing and Alfred pressed his mouth against Arthur's neck, lapping up the sweat forming there and grazing the skin with his teeth. He knew the urge to bite would only get stronger the longer this went on, so he carefully restrained himself and returned to leaving kisses.

When he added a third finger Arthur gasped and let out a breathless cry, really arching his spine now and trying to drive Alfred's fingers in to the knuckles. It had been a long time indeed and Arthur was lost in how much he had missed this feeling.

"Think you're ready for something else?" Alfred asked with a grin, curling his fingers inside as a test before finally removing them.

Arthur came back to himself as a groan of loss escaped him, and suddenly the need reared its head and he locked intense, narrowed eyes onto the mercenary and jerked the blond down into a searing kiss. The action had caught the other off guard, and when they parted Arthur kept a strong grip on the back of the other's head to keep him nose to nose.

Arthur's voice came out as a low and lusty growl, making Alfred's stomach knot. "This is happening because I allow it, understand?"

Alfred gave a wide-eyed nod and didn't make another move until Arthur grabbed the vial and dumped its contents into his hand, then suddenly grabbed the half-Nord's throbbing arousal and made the man grunt and grip the bed linens tighter.

The mage just smirked, as he wrapped his fingers tighter around the shaft in his hand and vigorously coated it in oil. He intentionally teased the mercenary by rubbing his thumb over the weeping head, mixing the pre-cum with the oil and smearing it all over the sensitive foreskin. Alfred buried his face into the mattress beside Arthur's head and bit the sheet to keep from making even more embarrassing sounds of need.

Or worse, biting Arthur.

The Breton hummed in appreciation at the sight and rubbed his spread legs against Alfred's hips. "You have permission to continue now."

Needing no more prompting than that, Alfred released his hands and teeth from the bed and leered down at Arthur before grabbing the mage's hips and burying himself inside of him in one swift motion. Arthur threw his head back and screamed as Alfred's substantial size forced his body to conform or tear, and suddenly the intrusion retreated before being shoved back inside.

Gods, it was so uncomfortable; but the pain had only been momentary compared to how wonderful the passionate heat was building inside of him. Alfred kept up an even and powerful rhythm, not sparing Arthur an inch of his length as he thrust repeatedly into his body. The motions left the mage completely consumed in the sensation and panting, as he latched onto Alfred's shoulders to hold onto him again. The mercenary never seemed to notice, as an inhuman growl escaped him and he buried his face in Arthur's neck again, breathing deeply before giving one incredibly hard thrust that heralded a much faster pace.

It was all Arthur could do to keep holding on and crying out; he wasn't even sure what he was saying any more or in what language, but it couldn't have been anything close to " _stop_ ", as Alfred just kept going. The friction alone of Alfred moving inside of him was sending waves of pleasure through him, but it was when Alfred continuously struck his prostate with every penetration that he screamed in ecstasy. Alfred seemed lost in the moment as well and kept his mouth against the Breton's skin, his breath making the tender area so hot and the alternations between his tongue and teeth were maddeningly exciting. Arthur knew he was reaching his limit and wrapped his legs around Alfred's waist, pulling him as deep as he could before throwing his head back and shouting out his new lover's name.

He came harder than he ever had, and the flood of heat and pleasure rushing through him, electrifying his senses, was more than enough. That Alfred only seemed to be thrusting into him faster and prolonging his release, made the high that much more satisfying. His vision faded and he felt his body clamping down so tightly around Alfred inside of him, but nothing – not even the sudden bite of Alfred's teeth in his neck – could diffuse the pleasure for him. He heard Alfred growl out his name against his skin, as the mercenary's seed filled him to the brim and the man suddenly collapsed on top of him.

Both of them were completely spent, and all Arthur could remember as he drifted off to sleep was the feeling of Alfred's tongue sliding over the bite on his neck.

* * *

 

No light woke him for once, as there was none to be found in the small room. The thick fabric over the window was obscuring whatever lay beyond, but it was clear through the gaps in the corners that there was no daylight on the other side. Arthur had opened his eyes and stared at the dark curtains for a time before the same movement that stirred him shifted beside the bed. He was still too tired and content to move, so he just watched the figure lazily.

Said figure seemed to realize he was being ogled, and turned to lock gazes with the mage. The blond mercenary smiled, albeit a tad sheepishly, and ran a hand nervously through his hair.

"Um…good evening. How ya feeling?"

Arthur took a moment to process before shrugging and letting out a comfortable sigh, "Well. How about you?"

Alfred seemed to light up at that, though his blushed worsened. "Oh, I feel great!" he said with a nervous laugh. "It's, ah…it has been a while since the last time I…ya know."

"Had sex," Arthur finished for him with a raised eyebrow. This only seemed to exacerbate Alfred's blush and Arthur admired how incredibly endearing it was.

"Ah, yeah that," the half-Nord replied with another anxious chuckle. "I'm…sorry if I hurt you or if I wasn't reading your signals right last night. We were both pretty drunk, but in all honesty I was sober by the…well, j-just before we got to the ah…good…part."

Arthur had both of his eyebrows raised then and reclined back in the bed. "Oh, the ' _good part_ '. I see."

"Woah, hey, wait! I didn't mean it like  _that_ ," Alfred quickly tried correcting and dashed back over to the bed (Arthur noticed that the mercenary was completely clothed again). "It was  _all_  good, I just meant before the intercourse part happened. Uh…gods, that ah…that just sounded kinda forward…"

"Alfred, are you sure you weren't a virgin before this?" Arthur asked plainly.

The notion seemed to startle the hell out of the larger man and his flush became impossibly more inflamed. "What? Of course I wasn't!" he swiftly defended, looking even more annoyed when Arthur gave him a look of amusement. "Oh come on, I wasn't  _that_  bad. I don't often have it with guys but it's not like I don't know how."

"Hmm," Arthur mused, seemingly contemplative as he gave Alfred a once-over. "Oh you were quite good and there hadn't been a doubt in my mind about your cherry until now. Sorry love, but you act like the startled virgin the morning after her wedding night."

Alfred gave an affronted squeak and sputtered out a ramble of unpleasantries, as Arthur just smiled and waved the indignities away. "Alfred, relax, I think we're well past this kind of reaction to intimacy. Also, you didn't hurt me…well, no more than the customary after-sex soreness, but I think it's well-earned," he began, and then stopped as a thought struck him. He winced a bit as he sat up and peeked beneath the blanket, appearing a tad confused with what he found…or rather with what he didn't find.

"Now, I know it has been a while…but there's usually a bigger mess."

"Oh, I uh…cleaned you up when I came to early this morning. You've been asleep the entire day, but I didn't try to wake you," Alfred replied and the awkwardness returned. "Most of my…well, bed partners are usually really drained after a night with me. I'm not bragging, just saying. I think I tend to let my strength get the best of me when I'm doing it. Anyway, I always try to be a gentleman about it and clean them up before I…go."

The look Arthur gave him was misinterpreted and Alfred swallowed thickly, suddenly seeming afraid. "Oh, hey, don't look so worried. Yeah, my beast gets really close to the surface when I'm feeling any kind of intense emotion and things like battle or sex just rile it up, but I promise you can't catch lycanthropy from spending a night with me. I swear I was human the whole time."

"You've never stayed with your partners after sex, have you?"

The question stopped Alfred in his tracks and he was left gaping like a fish with the hook of culpability lodged hellishly down his throat. He couldn't find the words to answer for a while, and then a pained look crossed his face, as he admitted, "No."

Both of them were silent for a time and Arthur looked uncharacteristically withdrawn. It was then that Alfred took a seat on the bed facing the mage and after a hesitant reach…took his hand. "I had to learn over the years that hunting, fighting and sex are pretty much the only ways to release all the tension that builds up inside of me because of this curse. If I have too much…well, then I can't keep the kind of control over it that I have now," he said and then looked from his hand joined with Arthur's up at the mage's face, which made the mercenary smile a bit. "What we did last night wasn't because of that though, it wasn't even the ale talking. Last night was the first time I did it with someone and it meant anything to me, that it was my decision and not a necessity. And…yes, this is the first time I stuck around and waited for my bed partner to wake up. I don't regret that and I hope you don't either."

For a long time, Arthur was very quiet. His expression was unreadable, but Alfred could see the thoughts churning behind the Breton's darkened green eyes. It made the half-Nord nervous, but at the same time he was glad Arthur hadn't shoved his hand away yet. He swallowed and thought perhaps he had still said the wrong thing, but then Arthur pulled him back to the moment by squeezing his hand.

"You intend to stay on this suicidal journey with me."

Alfred's smile widened; he was glad to hear the lack of question in the mage's voice. "You're stuck with me."

Arthur took that in and nodded, as if closing a deal so the next order of business could begin. "Good. Then know that if you ever bite me during sex or ever again in general, there won't enough Blisterwort in the world to reverse the things I'll do to you. Now get me my clothes, we've lost enough time already."

Alfred wanted to laugh at the notion but wisely held it in, bowing his head respectfully and adding a satirical " _Right away, m'lord,_ " before taking a quick glance at Arthur's neck.

The mark was still visible, and a sign to everyone that this man was his mate and his alone. He knew it was the beast's lingering sentiment, but it was one he could rightly live with.

Yeah…he could live with this; so long as Arthur was his alpha, he could definitely live with this.

**~Fin~**

* * *

_Original Notes from the Author (2013)_ :

Welcome back, everyone~ This is Pie and my contribution for England/Arthur Kirkland's Hetalia designated birthday. :) We missed it last year, so this year we decided to do something to make up for that and blow this year out of the water. We hope you all have enjoyed and know that there is an art component for this fic Pie has made and can be found on her and my Tumblr. The links to both and the artwork are on my front profile page here on fanfiction. :D Happy birthday to England/Arthur Kirkland and a very happy un-birthday to all of our fans here!

Sincerely,

_Kel/G.K.G._

_&_

_Pie_


	6. I Promise

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia or Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim. I am merely a fan who appreciates the ingenious glory of Hetalia's masterful tomfoolery and Skyrim's beauty.

 **Warning:** Graphic Scenes, Gore, Extreme Angst, Violence and Torture -- _Discretion Strongly Advised_

**Tale Six Characters:**

**-** England/ Arthur Kirkland

 **-** America/ Alfred F. Jones

 **-** Russia/ Ivan Braginski

 

**~Promise~**

**Tale Six**

_"Until My Last"_

 

_He had never seen anything like it. The hulking mass of pure muscle and fur was bigger than any earth-bound creature he'd ever beheld, and the enormous jaws filled with talon-sized fangs were as terrifying as the monstrous paws that shook the ground. It was even more earth-shattering when one of said paws crashed into the side of his head._

_He barely registered slamming into the mountainside, but crumpling to the snow covered ground slightly roused him enough to expel the blood filling his mouth. He was so disoriented and his vision swam in a sea of red and black. He tried to claw his way back to his feet but those monstrous paws were on him again, heaving him up and propelling his body back against the rocks._

_Agony exploded in his head, shooting through his brain and down every nerve in his body. He was repeatedly shoved against the mountain, over and over again until his form was imprinted in blood against the rocks. It was only after he became unresponsive that the beast threw him back onto the snowy path and left him there…lifeless and melting the surrounding snow in a growing sea of crimson._

_For the first time since the attack began, he was free from pain. Time just seemed to stop and he felt weightless and calm. The bone-jarring agony was just a faint echo now and everything was quiet. Breathing, his heart beating…things he knew his body needed to do to live were just mindless burdens and suddenly so unimportant. He just wanted to slip away…to forget the hurt and everything tying him to a world full of nothing but pain…_

_But his inner beast was a survivalist and not ready for Hircine's hunting grounds just yet._

_The barrier came down and the strength of the creature's first heartbeat nearly fractured his rib cage. The jolt caused his body to convulse and blood poured from his wounds even faster. He couldn't contain the enlarged muscle demanding all of his energy, and his body responded by forcing his chest to expand._

_The blissful oblivion was gone and pain exploded inside of him again, forcing him to sharply inhale so he could scream. His bones caved, breaking under the pressure before swelling rapidly. His skin tore as it stretched, suddenly mending with a thicker leathery casing that sprouted the course, wiry hairs of the animal's coat. It felt like a million needles all at once forcing their way out of his body from head to toe. When his armor could no longer contain him, he swiftly shred what didn't fall off when the belts began to snap. His vertebrae were elongating, shooting down his back and forcing his skin and muscles to conform for the wretched beast's tail curving out of his spine._

_The sensation was indescribable. Between the alien heart trying to break out of his chest and his body unnaturally twisting to accommodate the monster growing inside of him, he wished he were back in limbo. His already fractured skull split down the center, rupturing the protective membrane within and sending the man into a seizure. His newly formed paws slammed into the ground, causing craters where they impacted and all at once the bones of his face fissured and reformed into something hideous. The skin pulled over his new face, his teeth shooting out of the bone and forming daggers to line the lengthened snout. His lungs expanded, pulling in a vast amount of air before unleashing a blood-curdling howl from a thicker, inhuman throat._

_His senses were all realigning to the new form – his ears swiveling wildly to take in every sound around him, his nostrils flaring to take in every smell, and his tail flailing furiously against the ground. His topaz eyes opened, seeing nothing but the disheveled red snow and clawed earth around him. His muscles bunched, his fur bristled and the snarl came. He dug his talons into the permafrost and pulled his hulking body onto his haunches…_

_He raised his head and the towering monster was there above him. With sudden ferocity the newly formed titan launched itself at the creature and the two went to the ground in a heap of fur and teeth._

_The sounds of jaws snapping, claws and fangs ripping flesh apart and heavy bodies slamming against the ground echoed off the frozen walls of the valley. The bellows of the beasts loosened the snow covering the trees, filling the air with diamond dust that dissolved in the castoffs of blood. The clash of burnt amber and silver became a blur in the furious onslaught, but eventually the greater beast – the monster – overtook its adversary and pinned him to the ground._

_The massive jaws came down too fast to see and latched around the throat beneath the thick mane of amber fur, clamping down and cutting off his opponent in mid howl._

_Alfred surrendered all awareness._

_Blood gushed like a fountain, as the imprisoned beast dug its hind claws into the abdomen of the monster atop him and kicked, slicing through skin and muscle before the maw around his throat released._

_But the damage was done and all the fallen wolf could do was writhe._

_Someone was screaming, a human – soon many humans. Names, commands, it couldn't make sense of it. It saw the washes of red and black clouding its vision again and consciousness began to fade. The beast snapped at the air, clamping its jaws on nothing as bloody foam poured from its mouth. The wound was mortal, the beast could feel it…but refused to accept it. Already its body was starting to heal and the struggle to get off its back and right itself –_

_The arrow struck before it ever got to, digging into its back and making it shriek. Silver, the fiery agony of silver buried itself in its body and soon another joined it. The beast fell to the ground snapping its jaws in fury and trying to dislodge the wicked arrows as it thrashed._

_The sun became eclipsed above it and the towering form of the monster engulfed the world again - along with that paw._

_The pain was finally over._

* * *

He couldn't stop thinking about that look on his companion's face: the bleary, pain-ridden expression that had turned his once striking green eyes into reflections of that terrible grey dawn. They had held Arthur down and forced him to watch helplessly, as they bled what was left of his body before him. The world became filled with white noise when he felt the silver tipped arrows in his back and side twist within him, pushed deeper by the chains being wrapped around his body. He had been paralyzed from the poisonous effects of the metal burning his flesh, draining the strength flowing out of him on currents of blood. He watched as Arthur kept trying to fight, but the half-Nord had long since stopped – he couldn't physically do it anymore…

The monster was there and human again, just like him, and looking down at him with apathetic eyes. The man appeared to be a Nord and smelled like one too, but his eyes were unusual…like the color of withered lilacs. He was wearing the cerulean colors of a Stormcloak and carried the emblem of Windhelm…and Alfred had to remember that; he had to remember this man now taking hold of his combative ally and dragging him away.

He wanted to stop him but couldn't. He wanted to help Arthur struggling to get free and reach out to him but his strength was gone…and soon Arthur was too.

Eventually the world faded to black once more. He tried so hard to hold on to the image of Arthur's face and failed. Nothing else mattered…and then he woke up here.

Even with the harsh light of the torches lining the walls the darkness was ever present. The smell of filth, decay and damp earth built the foundations of this foul place, accented only by the waft of blood-soaked canine and the aftermath of violent evisceration. The subterranean prison was colder than a tomb and occupied only by living corpses in silver barred cages. The sounds of unbridled fury were equal in number to the cries of despair; with the inhuman howls of the condemned and the wails of the hopeless echoing off the slime-covered walls.

The fighters were the newly interred, those who hadn't accepted their fates yet or given in to the cancerous power of the silver around them. It would only be a matter of time before they too succumbed like the rest of their hell-bound company…it had taken Alfred only a week.

The Silver Hand, lords of this prison, were the authority on the hunting and killing of lycanthropes. One of the first lessons learned by those harboring cursed blood was to fear and avoid the order; even the fabled Companions did well to steer clear. The order educated and trained its members with the unique use of capturing live lycanthropes (primarily werewolves) and using them in scientific dissection and controlled hunts. Experiments were performed on captured subjects to help find new weaknesses and test new methods of chemically and elementally based pain; all in the quest to find more efficient ways to exterminate the deviations of nature. Subjects that did not end up on an anatomist's table ended up in one of the many arenas, where foot soldiers of the organization waited to hone their skills in hunting and butchery. Alfred had been assigned such a bloody end but his ever-worsening condition halted his ensured execution.

Alfred was dying.

His struggles in the early days of his confinement had been short lived. Between the ruthless attempts by the order to force him to change for their hunts, and the mandatory starvation and silver exposure, he had been reduced to a collapsed mass on the floor of his cage. Curious physicians monitored him for nights on end, but come each dawn with no signs of changing the heads of the facility convened and determined Alfred would prove an unfit subject for the trainees to hunt. His custody was then transferred over to the researchers, eager to dissect the inner workings of a rare, natural-born werewolf.

Alfred was the first of his kind the organization had ever taken alive, and such a status made him a much-anticipated treat for those awaiting him in the surgeries.

In the moments when his consciousness allowed him, he could smell the stench of human looming beyond the bars fashioning his world and hear them speak of him as though he weren't a sentient being listening to the details of his own murder. He overheard them ponder aloud about how he was able to stave off transforming in such a condition, then where to begin cutting him open when the time came (they were waiting for something, but Alfred never understood what). Every now and then they would become so engrossed in their discussions and talk for hours, even use silver tipped pikes to reach into the cage and illustrate the paths their scalpels would take when they finally had a chance at their specimen. Alfred remained unresponsive through it all, choosing to either sleep to make the pain stop or ignore what was happening around him when restlessness took hold. No matter what, however…he could not stop himself from dwelling on the last image of Arthur he had in his memory.

He had completely failed in his task to protect the mage. In spite of all of Arthur's admonishing he had promised to be the sword and shield of the Dragonborn…and now, in his failure, he was bound for an eternity in Hircine's Oblivion.

Ever since he'd been a boy he had feared death but not for reasons of the unknown, because he knew there was only one afterlife that accepted the dead of his kind. To imagine an eternity in an endless forest infested with monstrous beasts, to be hunted every night by the honored dead of the Nords and those of his race Hircine had enslaved was terrifying. He would be trapped forever in the form of an animal, having to contend with other violent inmates and un-cursed mortals, who relished in the thrill of the hunt. He was slated to die over and over again at the hands of a Daedric prince and his army of posthumous warriors. His afterlife would be spent alone, driven by instinct and running from one battle for survival to the next. He would crawl up from the pits of his own demise again and again; a renewable trophy for his pursuers who would seek him endlessly until he succumbed to the will of Hircine and gave up what freedom he had to join his pack of hounds. He would then spend the rest of eternity as a thoughtless, bloodthirsty minion of his Daedra sovereign…

His whole life had been spent trying not to think about it, but now faced with its inevitability the reality mercilessly plagued him…and worse was the knowledge that this was the final testament that he would never see Arthur again.

Arthur was a pureblooded Breton, a high-class mage and the Dragonborn. The afterlife awaiting his soul was forever beyond the realms of Hircine's Oblivion and therefore forever beyond the cursed half-Nord. The thought of reawakening in the hunting grounds, inhuman and alone, was more than the man could bear. The knowledge that as his eternity dragged on he would lose whatever humanity remained in him until nothing but the beast was left...destroyed him inside. The part that could laugh, love, and enjoy life – the only part of himself he cherished – would be eradicated from existence.

He hoped that when the part of him that loved life and Arthur was gone…he would completely cease to be.

* * *

It was impossible to track the passage of time in this place, but it was becoming more evident that his days here were coming to an end. So many other inmates around him had already come and gone; some fighting and screaming while others begged for their lives. But when the cage doors opened and the prisoners dragged out were passive and resigned…Alfred felt something inside of him begin to fracture a little more. The passing of the broken weighed on him far heavier than the others, as it seemed his end would be the same as theirs…defeated.

Groups of underlings would routinely come down to perform the lesser labors of the prison's upkeep and, more often than not, gawk at and taunt the incarcerated. From the environment to the behavior of the order members, the entire situation was designed to degrade and dehumanize the prisoners; and the underlings, especially, relished in their role of breaking their master's test subjects. However, beyond the curiosity surrounding his status as a natural-born werewolf, the underlings usually didn't linger around Alfred's cage too long, as he never responded to them. Given the general consensus that he was already broken, there was little more they did to him beyond keeping the starvation and silver protocols in place. Had Alfred acted up like many of his fellows he would have been tortured and bled again, just as he'd been when they first brought him here…

They had done it over and over again until he had been past the point of recovery, and now the half-Nord no more had the strength to protest than he did to stand.

At some point, after the apprentices had finished their work in the prison for the night, Alfred felt the presence of someone approaching his cage. He remained indifferent to it as always, but when the atmosphere suddenly pulsed around him he opened his unfocused eyes and watched as an aura of dim light cascaded down the bars of his enclosure. He almost thought the phenomenon had been an illusion, as he felt the mortal presence vanish from somewhere beyond him. The torches were doused and darkness returned…but something felt different now…

For the first time in what felt like ages, Alfred attempted to move and found the task less draining than usual. He flexed one of his hands, watching his bare bones move under his translucent skin, and tentatively he reached out to touch one of the cold bars…

His eyes widened; for the first time in this horrid place he felt something akin to hope welling in his chest.

From that moment forward movement became incredibly important. Alfred fought with his frail body and forced his dormant muscles to cooperate in his mission to stand. Though he had lost an alarming amount of weight, his arms were still unable to efficiently support him. His muscle mass had decreased dramatically in his confinement and the starvation had depleted what energy reserves hadn't been drained by the silver. His many injuries, all old but poorly healed, protested with vigor and some bled anew.

The simplest task of getting to his knees became the greatest trial of his life. He faltered and fell multiple times but kept pushing himself regardless. He knew he had gained some attention from a few of his closest cellmates, who either harshly mocked him or barked at him to give it up and stop making noise. He ignored them all, choosing instead to focus on getting his legs to work before the first of the guards returned for their next shift.

By the time they did come and began lighting the torches along the walls, Alfred was near tears from having finally managed to stand for the first time since they'd broken him. His accomplishment was short-lived and met by sudden alarm by the guards, as Alfred's death grip on the bars had become a focal point of interest.

The silver should have been burning his skin and wasn't.

The guards advanced, preparing to move inside and drag their inmate out to inspect the cell, when the firelight falling over the bars solved the mystery: gold. Alfred found himself just as shocked as the guards reaching for him, when suddenly the world erupted in a violent explosion of sound.

The cage on the opposite side of the prison burst apart, metal splintering like rotten wood beneath the strength of the most recent inmate in this hell. The inhuman shriek of the monster rising up from the debris sent every human tumbling over their own feet in fright, and before the first guard could get away the creature had leapt and sunk its fangs into his neck.

Another cage burst apart, this time from the force of the first fugitive crashing into it in an overzealous attempt to tackle another fleeing order member. The second imprisoned lycan soon found common purpose with his liberator and his beast began taking over in a quest for vengeance.

All around him, Alfred found those with the will left to fight breaking out of their cages and turning the dirt floor into red mud. The smell of it was overpowering and Alfred's stomach began to churn, doubling him over and leaving him barely able to maintain support of himself with his hands. To the dismay of every human fiber left in his body it wasn't disgust that sickened him so…but lust – the terrible lust to partake in the slaughter of every living thing in the room.

The noise was deafening, as the howls and screams echoed louder than ever imaginable. Suddenly the shouts of humans beyond the prison began filtering down, heralding that reinforcements were coming. The fools were only going to be feeding the starving pack they'd left to rot beneath the earth; already he could hear the sickening crunch of bone being devoured with enthusiasm. His own cravings pulsed within him, clawing to take over and feed a body so long deprived of meat. The human and beast within him were long over being starved, but it was only the beast that found the prospects of a feast in this carnage – and Alfred was taxing what was left of his self-control to ensure he took no part in it.

As the blood seeped ever closer, nearly touching his shaking hands still trying to keep him upright against the ground, a hand clamped down on his shoulder and sent a spike of fear through him. On instinct he dropped to the ground and fell into the tide of blood, before lashing out with claws that extended from the tips of his fingers. There was a sharp hiss of pain when he struck something he couldn't see, but the crimson stream dripping from the slash wounds across a phantom torso did not go unnoticed.

The smell of hot blood began eroding what little reserve remained to keep the beast inside at bay, but in a shimmer of light outlining a human form in the darkness Alfred felt his human consciousness pulled back from the brink to behold the sight of the mage before him.

Though he wore the disguise of an underling of the Silver Hand, there was no mistaking the companion he had mourned endlessly during his time here in hell.

It was so hard to make out the finer details of his features in the darkness, but Alfred could see the dark circles beneath the mage's shadowy green eyes that stood out sharply against his paler than usual skin. He looked like he hadn't slept much or spent a great deal of time taking care of himself, but his expression of furious purpose made him look more formidable than feeble.

Arthur reached out and firmly grabbed hold of Alfred's arm again, this time pulling him close enough to speak into his ear, "Stay with me and whatever you do, don't change."

Without waiting for a response, Arthur pulled Alfred to his feet and drew one of the emaciated warrior's arms around his shoulders, keeping a strong hold on Alfred's waist with his other hand. The move caused Alfred a great deal of discomfort and his legs gave out on him before Arthur secured his hold, but eventually the physically stronger mage managed to keep Alfred standing and move him as hastily as he dared from the cage Alfred had spent the past five weeks in.

Arthur steered them away from the open areas of the prison, trying to avoid the feeding frenzy taking place. The stairs leading down to the prison were suddenly filled with armed order members, but at the sight of the bloody ends of their comrades they quickly raced back up the stairs for the prison door – slamming it shut and locking it.

Alfred's heart sank at the sound but Arthur seemed more worried about Alfred than the door. The heavy barrier was reinforced with silver and the lock was of fortress quality, made for the event of just such a prison break. Alfred let his head and hopes fall, but a gentle hand on his face pulled him to rest against the shoulder supporting him and warm lips kissed the side of his cold face.

"Just wait. I promise, love, I didn't come this far to fail you."

Alfred felt his eyes burn and he wanted to tell Arthur that he had never failed him, but his voice wouldn't work. He hadn't uttered a single word since his first week here and the dehydration made even swallowing a chore. He closed his eyes and buried his face in Arthur's neck, wanting so badly to apologize for Arthur being trapped in this hell with him and wishing the mage hadn't risked so much to find him. However grateful he was to see his companion alive he couldn't bear the thought of losing him again, especially not like this.

Arthur kept a hand on the mercenary's face and quickly dropped them both to the ground as shadows began sweeping over them. Alfred allowed Arthur to keep his face averted from what was happening but he could still hear the howls of the insatiable wolves looking for more human prey. The scraping of claws over the dirt floor and pounding of massive paws sent shockwaves underfoot, and then all at once a pack of beasts was surging up the stairs leading towards freedom and the sound of the door above bursting open preluded a choir of screaming.

The battle above echoed down into the prison but was soon fading away, as humans fled and beasts chased. Only when the noise stopped did Arthur's hand begin stroking Alfred's face again, before he guided his eyes up and the two really looked at each other for the first time.

There was the briefest moment where a film of tears clouded the mage's eyes but was soon blinked away, as the Breton leaned forward, threading his fingers in Alfred's dirty hair, and kissed the half-Nord's face again. His breath hitched only once before he rested his forehead against the other's and sighed, "I'm so sorry I wasn't here sooner, my friend. This time we're going home together."

Again, no matter how badly Alfred wanted to say something he couldn't. He closed his eyes and fell completely boneless against the mage, feeling Arthur embrace him despite his state. After having convinced himself that he would never see his companion again, this moment just seemed too dreamlike to be real. He was supposed to have died here, alone and forgotten by all with his soul damned to an abyss he could never escape. This place ate away all hope, yet here hope had returned…the impossible was wrapped around him and whispering soft words of comfort to him.

This couldn't be real…it just couldn't be…

But it was. It was all so very real, and so was the creature rising above them.

Too fast for either of them to react, a massive clawed hand came down on Arthur and wrenched him away. Alfred's eyes shot open and he fell forward, disoriented and shaking, as he looked up to find a mammoth, scar-ridden werewolf pinning Arthur to the wall by his throat.

The monster opened its maw wide and roared at the white-faced mage, before an even more thunderous response ripped through the air and tore into the beast. Arthur was knocked to the ground and tumbled several feet from where he'd been pinned, sliding over the blood-slicked floor before a rain of gore fell upon him.

The Breton curled in on himself, covering his face and neck for protection against the torrent before hesitantly peering out…and his eyes widened. He watched in horrified fascination as his attacker thrashed in the grip of an even more horrible brute, whose jaws around its throat clamped down for the last time and ripped the flesh from its grizzly neck.

Blood and meat gushed out of the corpse, and his savior devoured it all with voracious ardor. The Breton felt paralyzed and couldn't tear his eyes away from watching the man he had fought so hard to save scarfing down the once-living flesh of one of his own kind. Alfred's human and beast forms had always been synonymous to Arthur and never before had he feared him to the degree of most humans. Still, Alfred had always been so careful to keep Arthur from ever witnessing him hunt because he feared what such an image would do to the mage's opinion of him. Seeing, smelling and hearing what he was now…he understood why.

The sounds of movement above the prison drew the gore-slicked werewolf's attention from its meal to its surroundings, and the first thing it focused on was the only other living being in the room. Arthur stared at the inhuman topaz eyes glaring back at him and slowly the emaciated – but still giant – lycan rose to an intimidating height above the corpse at its feet. Arthur had worried about Alfred changing in his condition because he knew how starved the order had kept him. No matter how strong-willed and rational Alfred had always been in his beast form, the survival instincts that kept him alive were amplified when he was no longer human. As malnourished, tense and damaged as Alfred's body was…the first thing on his animal brain wouldn't be to thank the man who'd come to rescue him.

More noises came from upstairs but the werewolf's attention remained on Arthur. The mage pushed himself up, eyes never leaving the starving behemoth, and began slowly moving away until his back pressed against the wall. The wolf's nostrils flared and Arthur became aware of just how covered in blood he was from the earlier slaughter of the guards and the remnants of the creature's first meal in over a month. Amber-colored ears folded back as its pupils dilated. The beast's lips curled and crimson-stained fangs flashed, as a low growl rumbled up from its barreled chest.

Arthur shut his eyes just as he saw the creature's muscles tighten and another wave of the order's reinforcements came down the stairs.

* * *

The sun over Falkreath was warm and welcoming. The citizens of the city were already well into the start of the day and going about their routines unhindered. Along the southern edge of the city in the Jarl's residence, the lord of the hold was trying to soothe an irate physician, who'd just been violently turned away by the patient he'd been commissioned to attend to.

Arthur watched the exchange from the far side of the room before quietly slipping out and returning to the chambers he and his companion had been allotted by the Jarl's hospitality. A few servants in the hall bowed to the honored Dragonborn, who several months prior had spared the city the wrath of a dragon on a warpath. But the Breton largely ignored them and closed the doors to his shared bedroom behind him. What he found inside forced him to stifle a sigh of exasperation. Alfred was out of bed and rifling through the room, turning out drawers, wardrobes, trunks and anything else he thought might be hiding his beloved weapons, which Arthur had hidden when they arrived in the city almost a week ago.

That day, under the pale light of dawn, they had breached the city's threshold beaten and exhausted, with Alfred slumped over the back of a horse and Arthur barely able to keep upright in the saddle. Arthur still didn't know how it had happened, but the creature that had taken over in place of Alfred had spared and even saved his life. After having overexerted itself in going on a warpath to get them both out of the Silver Hand's compound and as far from The Reach as possible, the beast had given way back to Alfred, who remained comatose during the ride south. The people the beast had killed and eaten during the escape had saved Alfred from dying and kept him alive on the journey to Falkreath, where Arthur called in a favor to the Jarl to lodge them until the mercenary had finished recuperating.

Though Alfred was still terribly diminished in body mass and complexion and had terrible new scars from where he'd been relentlessly tortured with silver, he was now able to stand and walk for periods. He would regain his full strength again someday, though he would gain it back a lot faster in his other form that he refused to take. He had been fighting off the changes his body so desperately needed and determinedly stuck to his frailer human self. But as it seemed Alfred  _chose_  to suffer a lag in recovery rather than to lose any more of his humanity, Arthur respected his wishes…it wasn't as if he were eager to see Alfred's beast again anytime soon.

"Alfred, you're supposed to be on bed rest," Arthur stated testily.

The half-Nord was startled and whirled on the mage, after which his expression became incredibly annoyed. "You moved my sword – AGAIN!"

Arthur rolled his eyes and stomped the rest of the way into the room. "Of course I did, you keep looking for it when you don't need it. Now get back in the bed."

The mercenary reddened and suddenly let out a vicious, inhuman growl. The sound reverberated off the walls and inside Arthur's chest, freezing him to the spot, and left him staring cautiously at Alfred.

"And if that  _thing_  and those people come back for me? For  _you_?  _What then, Arthur?_  You want me to have to change again!"

The moment the half-Nord realized what he said and how terribly close his beast had come to the surface, he cut himself off and stared at Arthur with wide, frightened eyes.

There was a tense moment of silence between them before Arthur let out a breath as Alfred staggered backwards, looking both guilt-ridden and appalled, as he sat down on the bed and hid his face in his hands. He didn't make a sound or move, but Arthur felt his chest tighten as the man began to shake. The ordeal with the ambush and what happened during the cruel custody of the Silver Hand had scarred the man, but far worse had been the knowledge of what he had done in his beast form after he and Arthur reunited.

For all of his efforts in trying to separate Arthur from the true nature of his beast, everything had been undone the night of the rescue. Arthur had seen him kill, but more terribly was that he had seen him feed – in this case, on human and once-human prey. Every time he looked at Arthur he saw the memories playing out in the back of the mage's mind; he could even smell the fear coming off of him when he made a sudden movement or sound even remotely close to the memory. It didn't help that Alfred's still weakened condition brought the beast that much closer to the surface as a survival measure. He couldn't help it when anger made him snarl or fear changed the color of his eyes. He also couldn't help how nervous he became around others…especially physicians, which is why he'd come off a  _little_  strong in adamantly telling the Falkreathian clerist to get out.

When Arthur was sure Alfred wasn't fighting a change at the moment, he crossed the room to the bed and reached out for the warrior, who shied away from him.

"You don't want to be doing that right now…"

Arthur froze and Alfred let out a bitter, yet sad laugh."I was just stating that you're the one who honestly doesn't want to touch me right now…not that you're in danger of me."

The words cut deeply into the mage and his shoulders sagged. Alfred could smell fear right now; he could even hear it in the other's increased heart rate. Alfred was on the highest sensory possible while remaining human, which meant the usually composed Breton could hide nothing from him.

So he didn't, and sat beside Alfred despite his fear and in spite of the man's shame. "You're right, I don't want to touch you right now. But you're wrong in that you think I'm afraid you'll hurt me…I'm more afraid you'll hate yourself for thinking you will."

Alfred swallowed and still refused to meet his gaze, but Arthur didn't force him. He sat alongside the mercenary in silence until he felt the tension in Alfred's body recede a bit…it was only then that he slid his hand over to Alfred's and intertwined them together.

"I don't blame you for what happened that day. I'm also not going to say that what happened hasn't changed how I see you as a force of nature…but it hasn't changed how I see you as my confidant and companion. I don't regret coming after you…I only regret that it took so long," Arthur began quietly, running his thumb across the back of his friend's hand, further relaxing the tension there. "I missed you…I don't ever want to miss you again."

Alfred's eyes were locked on their joined hands and a few tears fell on their union. The half-Nord finally squeezed Arthur's hand and pulled the other into a tight embrace, the mercenary burying his face against the mage's neck and shaking as he let out a sob.

"I never thought I'd see you again," He held him even tighter when he felt Arthur rest his cheek against him. "Thank you for not letting me die there."

Arthur threaded his free hand in Alfred's hair to soothe him, but ended up gripping him as tightly as Alfred was holding his hand. Arthur was one of the few people who knew Alfred's deepest fears; he knew what death meant for his precious companion…and he had promised himself a long time ago he wouldn't let Alfred die without finding a way to give him the afterlife he deserved.

The mage kissed Alfred's temple as he cried and felt the rare sensation of his own tears welling. Never in his long life had he ever cared about another person as much as he cared about Alfred. It frightened him to admit that, but he couldn't stop loving his wonderful, foolish and beloved partner.

"So long as I draw breath, Alfred…you won't find me far behind you," he whispered, and held Alfred tighter against him. "And even after I stop, I'll still be there. I promise."

 

**_~Fin~_ **

 

* * *

_Original Notes from the Author (2014):_

Hello everyone and welcome back. I know I said I'd have another chapter of "NYH" up before updating this fic collection, but my progress with "NYH" has been stinted again and this fic was already completed. Several components of " _Fidelitas_ " were actually finished some time ago but are only being released, as Pie and I feel comfortable with them. " _Fidelitas_ " is not a Beta'ed compilation of works because my usual Beta is having to deal with a lot right now and I don't want to add any stresses to her already full plate, so I really have to thank you guys for putting up with all the mistakes in these fics. :') Please know that I do try to read these through a few times before posting, but no matter what I still manage to miss things. oTZ Oi…

Okay, an additional note with this fic since there was the addition of another Hetalia character into it: Yes, we HAVE given roles to other Hetalia characters for this fic, but this will remain US/UK – UK/US – centric. :) We'll be seeing other characters coming in and out of some of the future fics, but for the most part we're gonna be focusing on our two leading gents.

So, time to explain Ivan's role here…

Pie and I are very aware of there being a very loyal following of Russia/Ivan in the Hetalia fandom, and we know it is often a gamble angering Ivan fans when he is made into an antagonist in any fanwork. This was one of the reasons we were very iffy about posting this chapter, as it was indeed Ivan in the beginning who kicked the crap out of Al and essentially arrested Arthur. We ask that readers keep open minds and not to jump to conclusions on how we plan to portray Ivan, as not all antagonists are without backstories and redeeming qualities. There will be a follow up to this fic told from Arthur's P.O.V., where we'll get to see more of Ivan's reasons for hunting Alfred and Arthur and see what happened to Arthur during his time trying to save Alfred. :) So, to the Ivan fans out there: FEAR NOT, there's more to the story than is told here and we can't wait to share it with you~

To close this out, we know this was a really heavy tale to get through and thank you all for reading. I'm still hopeful to get back to working on "NYH" after this but won't make any promises this time (since life never seemed to want to cooperate me). Pie and I wish everyone all the best and thank you for your continued support! Another shout out to the amazing artists who have made spectacular fanart for our story and all of our reviewers; YOU GUYS ARE BEYOND INSPIRING!

Sincerely,

_General Kitty Girl_

_&_

_Pie_


	7. Half-Nothing

_**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia or Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim. I am merely a fan who appreciates the ingenious glory of Hetalia's masterful tomfoolery and Skyrim's beauty._

_**Warning:** Strong Language, Implications of Violence, Angst_

**Tale Seven Characters:**

**-** England/ Arthur Kirkland

 **-** America/ Alfred F. Jones

 

**~Half-Nothing~**

**Tale Seven**

" _Trust me again"_

 

Finally, after months of trying so hard to decipher Alfred's secret all was revealed. He now knew the truth behind Alfred's incredible strength and ability to survive, his reaction in the Cidhna Mines and why he sometimes disappeared at night.

His moralistic, chivalrous and ridiculous mercenary; who talked to horses, loved children, and was unnaturally petrified by ghost stories...whose blood he now knew was no more human than his own.

Staring at the ancient prize in hand, Arthur let his mind wander over every instance where he should have known what his companion was. He felt foolish for not having figured it out sooner, but strangely he could not fault Alfred for having tried so hard to keep it from him. The half-Nord's evasiveness during their initial meeting made sense, as Alfred could no more trust a stranger with his secret than a friend. People hunted Alfred's kind both out of fear and for profit, as harvesting a lycanthrope's cursed essence could fetch a man a satchel of coin in any mage's market. Alfred was far worse off than any fugitive, but like a criminal he had lied about who he really was and kept this very dangerous secret from him. His loyal, ever trustworthy Alfred had lied to him...

Now the question was, could he forgive and continue his journey with a man like that?

He raised his eyes to the half-Nord seated on the ground on the other side of the campfire, intentionally constructed between them. Alfred had been timidly distancing himself since the attack earlier in the evening, where he'd changed in front of the mage for the first time. Arthur had been horrorstruck watching the mutant creature burst out of his companion's skin and rip the head off a Frost Troll, even though the move had saved both of their lives.

He couldn't get the image out of his head and clutched the Staff of Magnus tighter.

"Please stop doing that. I'm not going to hurt you."

Arthur couldn't help but tense despite the reassurance, making Alfred clench his jaw as he continued averting his eyes.

"I've never been around one of your kind before. I don't know what to expect."

Now Alfred was the one stiffening up and glaring angrily at the ground. He swallowed hard and his muscles tightened with strain. "You've been around me for months and I've never once harmed you. Tonight won't change that."

Arthur still felt unsure, but the unspoken admission that this hadn't been the first time on their journey that Alfred had changed hung in the air and only that the mage had witnessed it was new. The small part of him that had been growing steadily fonder of the mercenary wanted to believe that Alfred was still Alfred, but the stronger, jaded part of him continued looking at the man with suspicion. It was as if he was seeing Alfred for the first time and the meeting was not off to a good start.

"How long have you been a werewolf?"

The direct question added an element of unease to Alfred's demeanor, but the resentment remained ever present. "Is this what its going to take for you to trust me again?"

"Until I'm certain you're not the monster I've read about since childhood, then yes," Arthur replied harshly and flexed his hand again on the staff. "Though I make no promises that what you say will mend things."

Alfred finally met the Breton's gaze and Arthur could see that his once sky-blue eyes were now darkened with bitter hurt. Silence hung between them for some time before the stalemate ended when Alfred accepted that he truly, desperately needed Arthur to trust him again.

The realization seemed to cause the half-blood a great deal of pain.

"I was born this way."

"Werewolves are made, not born. That's strike one," Arthur contemptuously refuted.

"Oh, read that in a book did you? Do you honestly believe that the only truths in this world are found in your libraries at Winterhold?" Alfred shouted red-faced and bristling. "If so, then why did you ask?"

Arthur was on his feet in an instance with the staff before him in defense, but Alfred never did anything more than swallow his frustration and shake his head. He forced himself to relax and waited for Arthur to start breathing normally again and lower the staff that, much to Alfred's sadness, took a surprisingly long time.

"I'm sorry. This is…a very touchy subject for me. You can put the staff down."

Though Alfred's tone had calmed, Arthur could not dispel his edginess anymore than he could let go of the staff. He slowly lowered himself back down to the fallen log he'd been sitting on, but the weapon never left his tightened grip.

"I've never lied to you, Arthur, I only never told you about this part of me. Please just…trust my honor now as you did before, okay?" Alfred began, silently pleading with his eyes for a return of the faith his friend used to have in him.

The mage took several deep breaths and only then lowered the Staff of Magnus back onto his lap. Alfred let his shoulders sag in relief and only when Arthur was sure he wouldn't endure another outburst did he continue. "How is it possible to have been born with a curse only ever recorded as being passed through blood oaths and witchcraft?"

"My mother had been cursed before I was born and I inherited her blood in the womb," Alfred replied, noticeably fighting to maintain eye contact with Arthur. "I am the result of further impunity on her honor that, out of respect for her, I would rather not discuss."

Arthur made his own conclusions from that and wisely did not pursue it further. He had deduced some time ago that Alfred might have been a bastard, as most half-bloods are. The half-Nord had once told him that his mother had been a respected Imperial officer and taught him most of what he knew about strategy, archery and morality; knowing now that she'd also been the victim of an unspeakable transgression further explained why Alfred had claimed to have grown up mostly in isolation. Not many societies would warmly welcome an unwed mother of a half-blooded bastard, much less a once decorated authority figure fallen from grace.

"How often do you change?" Arthur asked, moving on and Alfred seemed visibly relieved by this.

"Honestly, only when I need to. Being what I am it's dangerous to let things like stress and negative feelings build up, so I change maybe once or twice a month to let off steam. Other than that, I'll only change when the survival instinct overcomes me…" He responded, nervously scratching his arm beneath the bracer. "When you first met me I was fresh out of just such a change…the dragon still kicked my ass, though."

Arthur noticed the attempt at humor but it didn't distract him from the biggest unspoken question. "So what would you consider that change tonight?"

The mage couldn't be sure in the glow of the firelight, but he thought he saw Alfred blushing…though, to his credit, he continued to maintain eye contact.

"It was voluntary…well, more like," Alfred struggled before nervously rushing all of his words together. "I had been instinctively reacting to what I felt was the best way to protect you in the limited time I had. We were both hurt; you were drained of energy after the battles with Morokei and that Estormo guy, and that troll came out of no where! I saw it and the change was just so automatic that I didn't think about how you might react. At that time it didn't matter, I just…" His words finally trailed off and he hung his head, looking extraordinarily ashamed. "I didn't think I could save you any other way."

The answer surprised the Breton, and the other's apparent embarrassment in admitting that he had had no other means to defend him made Arthur uncertain as to how he should react. He was still too skeptical to show gratitude, and so he moved on to take back control of the conversation.

"The legends say that when a werewolf changes it craves the blood and flesh of man. Is that true?"

Alfred sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, "No, not specifically, at least. We crave the hunt more than anything else and I, for one, keep my hunts to the wilds and not areas of population."

"Have you hunted men before, though?" Arthur pointedly redirected, and Alfred became still and silent; his head never rising to address him again.

That in itself was his answer.

"I see."

"My first change was as a boy and I didn't know what was happening to me," Alfred began to recall in a voice much quieter than Arthur had ever heard it. "My mother had kept her own changes from me and I had never heard of a werewolf before that night. The change overwhelmed me and I didn't learn the aftermath of what I had done until months later, when Kodlak and his guild took me from her. No one had ever seen someone inherit the curse and I was something of a novelty." He said and sighed. "Aside from that, they didn't trust that my mother could handle me. Her sickness was at an advanced stage at that point."

Arthur didn't have to see his face to know the guilt reflected on it and, in the first act of kindness since his interrogation began, Arthur did not press him further on the memory.

But the part of him that was still the inquisitive scholar had to know what it was like; the change from man to beast. No book he had ever read spoke of it and to the mage knowledge, even frivolous knowledge, was everything.

It was that lust to know that spoke the words of his curiosity. "What does it feel like? What actually happens to you when you change?"

Alfred was quiet for so long that Arthur wondered if the man had even heard him. Only the crackling of the fire and owls in the distance filled the ambiance around them. Just as Arthur opened his mouth to ask again he stopped when he saw that Alfred…was shaking.

"It feels like I'm being ripped open from the inside. The change bites and claws its way out of me, like it's alive and trying to escape an inferno inside the prison of my being. Even when I'm cooperating it's like I'm being mauled and burned alive at the same time."

Arthur waited in silence for Alfred to continue and when he did, for the first time, the mage began to appreciate what Alfred had done for him outside the Labyrinth.

"Every time it happened when I was a kid, I thought I died and that the beast that murdered me just kept bringing me back as a demon. I hated it -- the thing in my blood, but over time Kodlak taught me to work with it rather than fight it," He said at length before trailing off again. "The pain doesn't go away, but at least I still have my mind when I change. I'm able to make decisions and see things with a more human than animal brain. It's the closest thing to control we can achieve."

Arthur wanted to give Alfred time to recompose himself, but his curiosity got the better of him. "This ' _we_ '...are there many of your kind?"

Alfred still wouldn't look up but shook his head. "Arthur, I'll answer questions about me but I can't betray anyone else…please understand that."

The Breton responded by biting his inner cheek and restraining any further probing into werewolf sociology…though it was difficult. It occurred to him that just minutes before he'd been terrified of Alfred and was now fascinated by him. The same man he'd been traveling with for months was somehow incredibly new to him, and like a child he was excited to poke and prod until he discovered all there was to know about him. Then, just as quickly as he admitted to his enthusiasm, he felt ashamed of it.

This wasn't just some specimen to study, this was the man who'd been his friend and bane for months; someone who had saved his life numerous times without any obvious appreciation from him. Though Alfred complained often and questioned the Breton's sanity at times, he never once abandoned him when it would have been convenient to do so. Alfred was honorable and held more respect for the laws of fealty than any knight or lord Arthur had ever met, and now he was finally asking for something in return: trust…and more than that, acceptance.

It seemed like a small price to pay, but it meant everything to Alfred. It had been clear from the moment Alfred stood like a towering nightmare over the gory remains of the troll and looked down at him with those yellow eyes that Arthur had seen the fear and shame in Alfred's face. He remembered Alfred being so outlandishly timorous when reaching out to him in such a human gesture, but the warped image of his new form had caused the Breton to recoil in fright. He realized now that something broke inside Alfred then and that's what he was trying to repair. Arthur had never once feared him before then and now he could never take back that moment that caused Alfred to feel like the monster the Arthur had seen him as.

However virtuous the half-blood was, he was still what the world would consider an unnatural creature of evil. Alfred never seemed to care what the world thought of him, at least not as much he cared about what his companion thought of him. So what would happen now? Arthur feared they were both asking themselves that.

"In the caravan you had been traveling with before I found you…had there been other werewolves as well?"

Alfred seemed to give a small, sad smile at that and shook his head. "I haven't had the pleasure of enduring the company of other werewolves in a very long time."

Arthur turned this answer over in his mind several times before recalling another of his books he'd read in his youth. Given how naturally social Alfred seemed, it was hard to imagine him as a loner...add the fact that he was a werewolf.

"I once read, in my  _ever_  perfect texts, that wolves almost always travel in packs and the ones that do not don't survive long," Arthur commented, watching for Alfred's reaction intently. "So, why were you alone?"

For a brief moment Arthur expected Alfred to reserve his silence again, but instead Alfred raised his head and finally looked back at him. His expression...it didn't suit the life-loving mercenary at all and before Arthur could stop it, the need to forever keep this look off his companion's face took root inside him.

He should never look so vulnerable and afraid.

"For the same reason I thought you were," Alfred began, biting his lower lip in that anxious tell of his. "We don't belong to any world we were born into, we don't fit any mold society wants us to and we're both living with burdens no one wants to help us bear…so I thought you'd make the best company for a fellow half-nothing like me."

Of everything Alfred had to say, only the word "half-nothing" continued to hauntingly play over and over again his head. He had been called many things in his life but never anything, he realized, so terribly true.

Half-nothing. A dragon's blood and soul trapped within a mortal body. An outcast Breton of High Rock, who owed half of himself to their hated Foresworn brethren that also disowned him. He had no nation, title or home beyond his various reputations scattered amongst the cities of Skyrim. He had one foot in every door but had never been invited through any of them. He hadn't admitted it to himself before, but even during his days growing up with his brothers in High Rock, he truly had been alone because he didn't belong with them either.

Looking at Alfred now, the only person who had ever volunteered to take up a place at his side and willingly stay, he realized that they were indeed a pair of half-nothings to the world. But to each other…

They had a place, and that was together.

Arthur needed a moment to recompose himself and Alfred respectfully gave it. For the first time since agreeing to let Alfred settle his debt to him, Arthur understood the true reason why the mercenary had stayed as long as he had and emotions he hadn't allowed himself to feel in a long time welled up inside him. He stubbornly fought against them and lost, finally forcing his eyes away from Alfred and hiding them behind the bend of his arm.

When he could speak again the only relief that came from the weakness in his voice was in seeing that damn look wiped from Alfred's face. "Now I owe you a story…don't stray too far, or you'll miss it."

The light returned to Alfred's eyes and not even the irritation of tears could obscure the sight of it for the mage. Arthur's pride managed to get the better of him and he stubbornly set his new staff to the side, before sliding down to the ground with his back to Alfred. He yanked his bedroll from its place on the log and covered himself as an indication that the night was over.

Everything from the battles in Labyrinthian to their conversation was now in the past and the future would begin in the morning. Arthur listened, as eventually Alfred moved from the other side of the fire to a patch on the ground next to him and settled in, once he was certain Arthur was no longer afraid of his presence. If anything, it was more of a comfort than ever to have Alfred keeping watch beside him.

Arthur now trusted this fellow half-nothing more than anyone else in the world, and made a promise to himself that he would never allow either of them to use that entitlement ever again.

 

**~Fin~**

 

* * *

_Original Notes from the Author (2013):_

Hello everyone, and welcome back to the story. :) This particular tale was a requested short by Pie to tell the story of Arthur's reaction to finding out Alfred is a werewolf. Before this point, our favorite Dragonborn had only ever read about werewolves and only knew to fear them, as the rest of the world did. The time frame for this one is just after the incident in the Cidhna Mines (which is still an  _in progress_  and directly proceeds the " _Partner_ " tale) and before the " _Helgen_ " and " _Alpha_ " tales. In short, this lovely heart to heart leads into Arthur's feelings for Al evolving into something more intimate. ;w; God bless the babies and all the feels we endure loving them~

Pie and I hope you have enjoyed this latest installment, and know that once the next chapter of "NYH" is posted 06/11 ( :') my reverse birthday gift to you all, as on the 12th I turn another year). I will be trying to devote more time to this series Best wishes and thank you all so much for the support and reviews (Pie and I read them all and are so happy this AU is being received so well)!

_Sincerely,_

_General Kitty Girl/Kelbora_

_&_

_Pie_


	8. Haven

_**Disclaimer:**  I do not own Hetalia or Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim. I am merely a fan who appreciates the ingenious glory of Hetalia's masterful tomfoolery and Skyrim's beauty._

_**Warning:** Strong Sexual Content (M/M) & Graphic Scenes, Rough Consensual Sex [[Discretion is highly advised]]_

**Tale Eight Characters:**

**-** England/ Arthur Kirkland

 **-** America/ Alfred F. Jones

 

**~Half-Nothing~**

**Tale Eight**

"Pact _"_

 

The firelight never dimmed and the hearth forever emitted comforting warmth. The ancient stonewalls and floors adorned with preserved furs never knew the winter that eternally surrounded the keep. Tapestries that never faded illustrated the long histories of the ramparts that bore them, and every table and shelf was built from trees that never faltered beneath their burdens. This enchanted sanctuary, designated by the highest order of mages within the College of Winterhold, allowed only for the moon's soft glow to grace the room unhindered by the glass of any window. The lace curtains lining the entrance to the balcony remained tethered and motionless at their posts, heedless of the icy winds that raged beyond the transparent spell that kept the weather from ruining the haven within.

Under the protection of runes older than the dragons darkening the skies, Arthur watched the blizzard beyond the terrace while idly stroking the warm skin of the man beside him.

Tucked beneath the fur blankets covering the bed, Arthur held his companion close to his body, as the half-Nord lay on his side facing away from him. The two had just finished intimate relations for the first time since Alfred's liberation from the Silver Hand and the physical exertion had proven to be too much for the mercenary. Alfred was still recovering from the ordeal and healing at a much slower pace because of his refusal to change and hunt. Instead, the werewolf retained his human form and coped with human remedies – the most common of which was sleep.

To facilitate Alfred's recuperation as best he could, Arthur had returned to the College of Winterhold and taken advantage of his status to secure asylum for the two of them. For the past few months the Silver Hand and Stormcloaks had been relentlessly pursuing them, but no matter how desperate they became none would dare cross into the frozen realm of the mages. So long as he and Alfred remained within the borders and under the protection of Arthur's order they would be safe.

At least physically safer than they'd been on the outside…

Arthur's fingers traced the remnants of Alfred's internment in hell, feeling along his lover's still noticeable ribs beneath skin littered with upraised burns and scars. Arthur could identify every weapon used to bleed the half-Nord and every place chains had been wound to bind him. The silver had left behind a branding that would never truly heal, and Arthur knew how horribly the memories plagued Alfred whenever he looked at the marks all over his body. Part of their union tonight had been Arthur's attempt to prove to Alfred that the scars meant nothing more to him than the fact that his lover had survived. If only Alfred saw it that way then perhaps the past would not affect his present as much as it did.

He had to move on from what happened…they both did.

Arthur leaned forward and rested his head against Alfred's back, closing his eyes and sighing. He felt the half-Nord begin to stir and tightened his arms around him a little more…perhaps trying to assure Alfred that he was still there.

He didn't know when Alfred woke, but moments passed before he began gently rubbing the mage's arm. "I must not have done well…you're up before me."

Arthur smiled a little before kissing the mercenary's shoulder, "Don't be so hard on yourself. It wasn't as vigorous as usual, but it was no less satisfying."

Alfred didn't seem comforted, only resigned and stilled his ministrations on the other's arm. Arthur wasn't used to such tepidness from the man. This uncertainty, this lack of response…it just wasn't  _Alfred_.

He understood that it would take time…but he missed his partner.

Without warning, Arthur grabbed Alfred by the arm and rolled the larger man on top of him. The half-Nord seemed very reluctant at first but was soon coerced when Arthur crushed his lips against him.

Alfred knew better than to question or protest the eccentric mage's strange behaviors, and before long he relaxed and opted to enjoy his usually reserved companion's affection for all it was worth.

When Arthur finally released Alfred's mouth, trailing his own down the half-Nord's face and neck, the mage took a shuddered breath and whispered against his skin, "The depth of how greatly I have missed you has no words…I don't want to miss you any longer."

Alfred bit his lower lip and sank his head into the pillow to hide his face, "I missed you too. I'm just worried...it's still so hard to fight it." He replied and knew Arthur would understand what he meant.

He was over two months without reverting to his other form and terrified about  _it_  making itself known at a time when he couldn't stop it, and Arthur wouldn't be able to defend himself. Even when Arthur had been straddling him and taking the majority of the work upon himself, Alfred felt the urges to dominate within him and was scared. He had spent more time restraining himself then enjoying being with Arthur and mage had known, mercifully not lingering as he would have liked to, and it weighed heavily upon him. Arthur's safety was far more important than his own pleasure, but at the same time he was sacrificing Arthur's too.

The mage sighed wearily and tangled his fingers in Alfred's hair, tightening his hold just enough to pull Alfred away from his neck so he could see his eyes. "Love, your spontaneous changes are triggered by stress and you told me after our first time together that this was a way to ebb the need. Denying yourself will only make it worse," He said and trailed off into a entreating whisper, "I want to help you, Alfred…please let me."

Alfred didn't respond and Arthur felt his own sadness and frustration rise. He too had been fighting to control the intense emotions he'd been feeling since having lost Alfred on that mountainside. He had spent a sleepless month hunting down members of the Silver Hand interrogating and even killing them, as he made his way closer to the underground prison near The Reach. Fear, anger, and unconceivable hate had kept him going for so long that the relief in finding Alfred _alive_  upon having infiltrated that hell…

Alfred wasn't the only one in need of release. After so long without it, Arthur needed something of normality…he needed Alfred to be with him in the present again, least they be trapped in the past forever.

"You need to stop being so goddamn afraid," Arthur hissed, unable to help it any longer and let the exasperation and his own desperation to be rid of fear show. "The thing inside of you isn't going anywhere except insane, just like you will if you don't let yourself  _feel_  again. So be yourself; be my fucking friend and my lover. Gods, if nothing else be my  _fucking_  alpha."

Alfred's eyes widened and his heart leapt into his throat. The feel of Arthur's nails grazing his back and sound of the mage's husky command was more than enough to stir his blood, but he was still afraid. Yes, he was still physically tried but Arthur's words had grabbed the attention of the beast inside of him and he felt a rush of heat surge through his body. He screwed his eyes tightly shut and didn't realize the growl slipping through his locked jaw, but there was no ignoring the quickly returning need for intimacy.

He only fought the urges a few breaths longer before Arthur intentionally bit down on his shoulder and unleashed everything.

Alfred hastily set his lips upon the mage's again. He reached down and grabbed Arthur's hips, kneading them possessively, before hauling the Breton further up the bed. The moment their reawakening arousals touched, Arthur began grinding them together and driving Alfred mad, making the man snarl and ground back even harder. The half-Nord then buried his face in Arthur's neck and began grazing his teeth along the skin.

Arthur knew what Alfred wanted to do and hissed into his ear, "Do it."

The mercenary immediately bit down on his lover's offered neck and felt the other's body arch, pressing the mage harder into him and sending a rush of fire right to his loins. Arthur didn't want to wait and Alfred was glad; he needed to reassert his claim over the man now.

Without fair warning, Alfred released Arthur's neck and flipped him over to pin Arthur against the bed with his body. Arthur squirmed but didn't struggle, as Alfred grabbed his hips again and rubbed his hard cock against the Breton's gaping entrance.

It was already so hot and ready for him; he could feel the wetness still inside from their previous union. Arthur was now relaxing and readying himself for penetration, and just the thought that Arthur was submitting to him triggered his feral need to dominate him. He needed to fuck this stronger male – _his_  alpha mate–and mark him with more than just a bite. He wanted to rub his scent all over the other, leave his seed inside of him, and trail his tongue over his skin when their passions were sated.

Alfred's grip on Arthur's hips tightened, as he pushed forward while pulling the other back into his cock. Arthur gasped and let out a straggled cry, fisting the sheets while Alfred gave progressively deeper thrusts inside of him. Pain and searing heat pulsed within the mage and the bruising fingers controlling his movements through the entire insertion made him ache. But it was worth it; every second was worth the incredible warmth and pleasure when he felt Alfred so alive and fully sheathed inside of him.

His first driving thrust was assertive, fast, and struck nerves that had lain dormant for far too long. Arthur screamed but only to encourage Alfred not to stop. Though they had had rough sex before, Arthur had always retained some semblance of control (which Alfred never seemed to mind), but now there were no illusions that Alfred had the reins. Arthur had challenged him and months of energy found an outlet in pounding into the body Arthur had essentially offered up to him.

That it was Arthur, someone he had long since subconsciously established as pack leader…it just made him more aggressive and slam into the Breton harder.

Alfred lowered his upper body atop Arthur's again, nearly burning the mage's fair skin with his inhuman body heat, as he kept up his forceful pace. The Breton couldn't catch his breath and was drowning in Alfred's that bathed him in animalistic grunts and snarls. At some point Alfred let go of Arthur's hips and grabbed his wrists, restraining them in his iron grip before slowing his more savage thrusts to roll his hips and stroke his submissive mate's prostate.

The Breton lost it then and buried his face in the pillow, screaming into it and shaking from the intensity of the feeling. His body wracked with pleasure, as Alfred continued stimulating him before returning to deep, forceful thrusts. He couldn't feel or pay attention to anything but the sensation of the half-Nord's movements; everything was just about Alfred now.

But he had meant to do this. For the first time since the nightmare began he wanted proof that the man he saved was indeed the man he had lost. He couldn't let the sins he'd committed or the loss of more of his humanity have been in vain. Alfred needed to be alive, passionate,  _there_  – not a shell filled with the shadow of the man who'd once cast it. He couldn't stand this sickly, dead Alfred any longer and if conspiring with the monster within the man was what it took to make him live again…then by the gods, he'd swallow his pride and let this half torture, half euphoria be endless.

He knew Alfred was close when the half-Nord became increasingly erratic, even tightening his already bruising grip on his wrists. He was scorching now; even the friction of his cock thrusting in and out of him was scalding. Though he enjoyed a little pain with his pleasure, it was soon becoming too much and he was forced to bite the sheets to bear it.

All at once a shockwave overcame him and he felt boneless and weak. He would have collapsed had one of Alfred's hands not released a wrist and hooked beneath his waist to keep him level, as the thrusts kept coming. Blackness began hovering at the edges of his vision until he clamped his eyes and jaw shut, letting out a moan when he felt Alfred's teeth sink into the junction between his neck and shoulder.

A ragged sob escaped him, as he felt Alfred empty himself inside him. He drifted along the edge of consciousness until he heard Alfred's inhuman voice growling out his name just before turning him over onto his back. Part of Arthur feared Alfred would want to go again, which made the mage's stomach tight with nervousness until he felt Alfred collapse on top of him.

Both of them were trying to catch their breaths and sweating. Arthur felt as though he was tied to an altar surrounded by candles, with the oppressive weight of his god upon him. He felt drained and certain he didn't have the strength to push Alfred off of him, but when he moved to try Alfred wrapped his arms around him tighter and his cock still buried in the mage pulsed.

He felt Alfred's teeth against his neck and froze when he growled, "Don't…move yet."

The Breton opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling, as Alfred continued growling before burying his face into his neck, holding him tighter and shaking. Arthur did as he was told and remained very still, but it was hard not to try embracing his lover when he felt tears falling onto his skin.

"I'm sorry. It was too close and still is…I don't want to hurt you more."

The pain in Alfred's voice made Arthur's heart clench. He finally gave up on remaining inert and wrapped his arms around the half-Nord, ignoring Alfred's sudden stiffness, and closed his eyes. Alfred's body heat was still burning him but he could ignore it knowing it was nothing compared to what Alfred was feeling.

His own pain, his own discomfort…He could endure this so long as it ended his loneliness and brought his Alfred back to him.

"My love," The mage whispered, turning his head towards the mercenary's ear and kissing his heated skin. "You are so strong…now let me be strong for us both."

Alfred's breath hitched when Arthur rolled his hips and the mercenary's still hardened arousal plunged deeper into him. The ache from his abused insides was terrible, but knowing that Alfred was trembling with need...

He sucked in a breath, bit his lip, and arched back again, this time receiving a jabbing thrust from his lover in return that made him gasp.

Harnessing the last of his energy and resolve, Arthur threaded a hand in Alfred's hair and held him fast. "Don't stop, my love. Don't stop."

* * *

Fresh linens and chamomile roused him. The comforting scents reminded him of sanctuary and soothing tea, which he drank whenever he could find the means and a moment's peace. Though his eyelids felt as heavy as his body, he managed to wake and the first thing to grace his vision was an opened jar of blue mountain flower ointment on the bed. The balm was a special blend he had made himself and was a more potent pain reliever than conventional solutions. Now that he was more aware, he could feel the slickness of its application on his lower body and memories of his night with Alfred returned.

He wasn't sure how long he'd been asleep or even how many times he and Alfred had copulated, but the soreness in his body gave him a good idea.

The very thought of moving made his body throb and he took a deep breath before locking his jaw and rolling onto his back. The discomfort was sharp and paralyzed him for a moment, leaving him slightly arched off the bed before he gingerly returned to a supine position. He swallowed hard and when he finally relaxed again he opened his eyes and saw Alfred sitting and hunched over at the foot of the bed.

Their eyes met and tense silence stretched between them until Alfred guiltily hung his head. Arthur tried to find something to say but the half-Nord beat him to it with an apology: "I'm so sorry."

The mage let out a sigh and grit his teeth, as he pushed himself up with his elbows to a sitting position but was halted when Alfred continued, "And don't say I have nothing to apologize for. I don't need to be lied to, even if it's out of kindness."

Arthur froze and set his furrowed expression on the half-Nord, "Then tell me what you feel you have to apologize for."

Alfred seemed to be steeling himself before lifting his face and finally meeting Arthur's eyes again. "I know I hurt you when we were together last night. I saw the blood when I cleaned you up and changed the sheets. I also saw the bruises and the bite marks…I know I can be rough sometimes but I'm never that rough. I know I lost control and I was aware when you were hurting and still I didn't stop."

When Arthur's expression didn't changed and he didn't respond, Alfred hung his head again and ran his hands through his hair. He sighed and seemed to be centering himself, "I take full responsibility for what I did…and I'm sorry. I didn't…I never want to do anything that would make you regret having saved me."

Without warning, a pillow collided with Alfred's head and sent him ass over teakettle off the edge of the bed. The half-Nord was left sprawled out on the floor in awkward disarray, as the mage crossed the bed and leered over him.

"You are an utter _twat_ , Alfred of Rorikstead."

The half-Nord could do nothing but stare up at the Breton absolutely dumbfounded.

"If this had happened a year ago, I would have cut my losses and continued this journey myself. You have been nothing but a pain in my ass since the day I met you. You're annoying, disruptive, at times smothering and other times the most graceless twit on the planet. You're the embodiment of the majority of things I cannot stand in this life and yet I find it impossible to rid myself of you," Arthur began and didn't seem to care about the tears beginning to cloud his vision…but Alfred did, and his expression softened in spite of the man's cruel words.

"I spent over a month doing unspeakable things trying to find the one person on this miserable plane of existence that I loathe and love so much. I regret nothing of what I did because to do so would be to regret having you back, and I will do no such thing."

Alfred was too stunned to even right himself or muster any sort of dignity, and just continued staring at Arthur as the mage's tears finally fell. Arthur again didn't seem to notice, as he reached down to grab Alfred by the collar of his shirt and haul him up to within an inch of his face.

"You bastard. Don't you ever invalidate my decisions again and don't you ever think that I make my choices lightly. I told you to keep going last night and I meant it. You want to take responsibility for your actions? Then know that I will  _never_  forgive you for having given me cause to feel this way about you and that if you  _ever_  disappear from my life again I will scour the world and Oblivion to find you and end you, just to make sure the job is done properly," He spat and couldn't stop his voice from breaking towards the end.

He was shaking when he only just managed entitling Alfred with another profanity before wrenching him into a jarring embrace.

Alfred didn't fight and let Arthur continue holding him at the painful angle, while breaking harsh kisses to spit out more curses at him. Though the angry words had been expected, the other heartfelt ones hadn't and Alfred couldn't stop his heart from swelling.

Arthur didn't regret him. Even better, he said he loved him.

It made taking the next several minutes of insults easier, before Arthur exhausted himself and allowed Alfred to return to the bed with him. The mage ended up falling back to sleep with the half-Nord holding him and gently rubbing his back. When it was quiet again with Arthur breathing easier beside him, Alfred found himself with a moment to think.

He honestly thought he had died in that prison. All this time he had believed that the only thing that had emerged from that hell had been the beast possessing him, leaving the ghost of him no more than an audience to the acts of a puppet master. He was always so afraid to touch Arthur not just because he was terrified of hurting him…but out of resentment for the thought that it was the beast taking someone he regarded as precious to him. He didn't want an imposter using his body to take advantage of the most important person in the world to him, to give him false hope and then crush it when he learned the truth.

But he was the one who hadn't known the truth.

Yes, the beast was there as it always had been, but it had been him Arthur had been crying out for and he had been the one to respond. The beast had fueled him then but now he could feel it dormant inside of him, leaving just him alone in his brain. He looked at his hand on Arthur and traced along his skin…knowing it was his will leaving a trail of gentle touches and it was his heart Arthur's cheek rested against. He looked at his arms around the mage and saw his own scars that would never show on the beast, and cautiously let his mind remember himself having been the one present and enduring each torture that left him so damaged.

His wardens had wanted the beast to come out and he steadfastly denied them. In a way he had been protecting himself as much as the beast, and the beast had paid him back by saving Arthur from the other monsters when he couldn't have. For months he had been fighting the terms of the pact he had made with his demon in his youth, a pact that until now had kept them in balance and coexisting. It was a dangerous thing to ignore their bond and something that had all but destroyed his mother. Arthur knew that, the Breton had seen what happened to a cursed person who tried fighting against the beast, and he knew it's what would happen to his companion if this continued.

Arthur was still trying to save him;  _him,_  and that meant his beast too.

He closed his eyes and pressed his face against Arthur again, kissing his hair and trying so hard not to crush him closer to him.

"I'm not dead…thank you for proving it to me."

**~Fin~**

* * *

_Notes from the Author (2013)_ :

Hello and welcome once again to all of our lovely readers. It has been a while since my last update here, but I finally managed to finish this and get Pie approval to post. The timeline for this fic is after the " _I Promise_ " story, so I hope this doesn't confuse anyone. :') Pie and I thank everyone again for reading and following the story, we hope you've enjoyed this latest installment and that we have more for you soon!

 

P.S. Omg I'll never feel confident writing smut and pray you forgive my utter clumsiness with the art. ^~^;

 

Sincerely,

_General Kitty Girl_

_&_

_Pie_


	9. Dragonborn: Part I

_**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia or Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim. I am merely a fan who appreciates the ingenious glory of Hetalia's masterful tomfoolery and Skyrim's beauty._

_**Warning:** Strong Language, Graphic Scenes, Torture, Gore and Violence _

**Tale Nine Characters:**

**-** England/ Arthur Kirkland

 **-** America/ Alfred F. Jones

 **-** Russia/ Ivan Braginsky

 

**~Dragonborn: Part 1~**

**Tale Nine**

_"Burn in Hell"_

 

This was a nightmare. Arthur would only allow his mind to accept that this was a terrible dream and therefore possible to wake from. He had to believe that any moment he would open his eyes and the sea of blood surrounding Alfred would be gone, that the ghastly wounds covering his body would mend and those sky-blue eyes would be anything but the dull shadows they were now. This couldn't be reality; he would  _not_  let this be reality. He screamed Alfred's name over and over, hoping that somehow it might save them both from this perversion of truth, but all his hopes were dashed when the gag was forced into his mouth and tied tightly behind his head. He thrashed and fought, but the weight of the men on top of him agonizingly increased.

Tears crept into his eyes because the presence of pain proved that this was all so horribly real.

His strength was fading quickly and soon he could barely lift his head out of the snow to watch as men in armor dragged his companion's bound and lifeless body away. There was nothing more he could do but look on and endure the blackened wave of horror and denial crashing over him. He couldn't help Alfred…but worse was the thought that Alfred was beyond help at all.

A man in blue stepped into his line of sight, blocking him from seeing any more of his companion's fate. An impassioned rage exploded inside of him and his will to fight returned. He tried bucking the large brutes off his back, but his efforts were only rewarded with a swift blow to the back of the head. The snow cushioned the impact but his vision swam and his ears rang nonetheless. He remembered closing his eyes and falling away from sensibility for a short time, but came to when he heard people speaking around him.

"Though I have a hard time stomaching working with the likes of you, the job is done and I hope your report back to your master is a fair one," a man began from somewhere beyond him.

"He will be informed that you assisted in the removal of the obstacle and were compensated accordingly. I do not intend to embellish your role further," came the indifferent reply of another looming above him.

"You left us a pittance of septim and some half-dead half-breed as compensation! I doubt if we'll get any use out of him in that condition –"

"And his condition better not worsen until we send word allowing it. Do with him what you will but his life still belongs to my king."

There was a pause in the exchange, as Arthur felt fingers comb through his hair and brush over a throbbing area at the back of his head. He couldn't help weakly cringing at the touch and becoming more alert, as the pain and growing need to focus on matters pertaining to Alfred roused him.

"He's still alive. Good," the man above him stated, and one of the weights holding him down began to shift. "Hand me the vial."

Arthur wasn't sure what was happening but urgency was rising within him to get up and find a way to escape. If he understood these men right then Alfred was alive somewhere and he had to find him. He commanded his extremities to move but only his fingers digging into the ground obeyed. He was so disoriented and hurt, and soon more pain was added when something sharp opened a shallow incision on the side of his neck.

He hissed and instinctively flinched away, but was arrested and held down again before a freezing cold cloth was pressed against his bleeding wound. He tried using a spell but his mouth was still gagged and his hands were bound. He only barely managed to elbow one of his captors when the sedative began to take effect. The cloth was still pressed against him and the solution soaking it was now racing through his veins. Even in his compromised state the mage recognized what was happening and knew he was powerless to stop it. These men knew what methods he might try to effectively fend them off and countered it. They had even known how to subdue and separate Alfred from him, so that aiding one another was rendered useless. This ambush had been very carefully planned…and Arthur knew there was nothing he could do now to save his companion or himself.

His respirations evened, his muscles relaxed and his eyes began to close. Someone held the cloth against him for another minute before tossing it away and pressing two fingers below the clotted wound, feeling for his pulse. Arthur could tell for himself that his heart rate was slowing and this seemed to satisfy the man in charge, as he removed his hands from him and stood.

"One of you retrieve the horses and bind him properly. He'll be riding with me until we reach the next waypoint to Windhelm."

Windhelm? Arthur was fighting the drug as best he could by hanging on to this piece of information. Windhelm was under the control of jarl Ulfric Stormcloak, leader of the rebellion against the Imperials. He remembered having inadvertently encountered the supposed king in Helgen after his exile from High Rock, as they had nearly shared the same chopping block. He vaguely recalled what happened after the arrival of the dragon god, Alduin…but he did remember the irony of an Imperial soldier helping him to escape the burning town.

This civil war had been a bloody one full of poisonous resentment on both sides. More often than not he found himself aiding those loyal to the empire and working to gain their favor to make his travels easier, but he honestly had little care about allying with either side of the conflict.

Was this the result of some kind of retaliation for his misconstrued actions in assisting the empire? Gods…was Alfred suffering for his mistake?

That final thought did him in and suddenly his grasp on consciousness slipped, causing his head to fall forward and his eyes to close for good. He only managed to filter in echoes of the world around him, but soon even that sensory was gone.

He was alone in the darkness again, left only with the knowledge that Alfred was gone…and he had failed.

* * *

_Neither of them had come here looking for a fight, but regardless one had found them. The old man they had been seeking was now dead on the floor surrounded by his Forsworn brethren, who had been masquerading as servants. Debris from the struggle was everywhere, leaving broken furniture, scattered papers and blood spattered across every surface. Arthur had just begun trying to clear some of the gory castoff from his face as his companion surveyed the room in grief-stricken revulsion._

_Arthur had come to learn over their short time traveling together that Alfred had a ridiculous hang-up about taking life._

" _It didn't have to be like this," he said under his breath, still looking at the bodies with a misguided sense of guilt._

_His Breton companion didn't seem bothered by what had transpired or the resulting corpses, and was searching through the mess with urgency. "He said he wasn't letting us leave here alive and his people attacked us first. We are justified."_

_Alfred seemed ready to counter this logic but knew how useless it was to try and appeal to the Breton's dormant conscience. He instead said a quiet prayer to Arkay, Divine over the dead, before turning to frown upon his companion's behavior._

" _I'm pretty sure it's a universal sin to steal from the dead," Alfred spat, looking upon his cohort with intense disapproval._

_Again, Arthur didn't seem to have any qualms about pocketing a ring or the torn piece of paper he'd found inside of Nepos's robes. The Breton has finished reading the contents of the page before tucking it away and wiping his hands clean on the untouched sections of the dead man's attire. Alfred couldn't believe him but kept his comments to himself, as Arthur stood and briskly made his way to the door._

" _We must quickly return to the Temple of Talos," he said in passing, jolting Alfred into motion to catch up._

" _W-we're just going to leave them here?" the warrior stammered, unable to grasp his companion's audacity in shaming the deceased like this._

_Arthur never turned back; in fact he seemed completely oblivious to the other's moral plight and swiftly led them from the house. Alfred continued to rail on about at least putting the bodies in more respectable positions, cleaning up, and the failed logic behind making the crime scene more presentable._

_This city was infested with corruption and now a high-ranking official and his household were dead. The only logic that would be involved in the discovery of this massacre would be to blame the only outsiders in the city, who had been warned more than once to stop investigating the connection between the jarl (supposedly loyal to the Stormcloak faction) and the Forsworn. Now that they held the evidence that would expose the shadowed alliance Solitude had been suspecting for some time, Arthur knew they had become walking targets. He and Alfred needed to get as far away from the crime scene and Markarth as possible before the jarl's men came looking for them._

" _Are you even listening to me?" Alfred sharply hissed under his breath, keeping a fast stride beside the mage who wasn't paying any attention to him._

" _Frankly, no," Arthur replied, as he bypassed a group of onlookers in the street and quickly made his way down the road to the temple. "I find your senseless prattle to be excessively annoying and unworthy of my courtesy. Now step lightly, we need to get inside and out of sight."_

_The half-Nord made an indignant noise and gnashed his teeth together, as they ascended the steps leading to the shrine. Arthur quickly ushered his companion inside and shut the door, then turned down the long slope heading deeper into the sanctuary…_

_They only made it halfway before the sound of swords being drawn echoed off the walls._

_Alfred drew his own weapon and immediately put himself between the collection of guards waiting for them in the altar room and his charge. Arthur looked beyond the armed tension and saw the body of their contact laying dead at the foot of Talos's statue…his blood pooling around the Divine's feet like a sick offering._

_Damnit._

" _We warned you, but you just had to go and cause trouble."_

_The doors to the temple opened and Arthur turned towards them, watching as three more guards walked in and raised their swords to him. He and Alfred were now surrounded and the Breton heard the half-Nord let out a curse under his breath._

" _We had a nice little deal between Thonar and Madanach, until you and Eltyrs started snooping around. Well, you wanted to find the man responsible for the killings?" The unit leader began and gestured to the soldiers closing in from the entrance to move forward and better block the companions' only exit. "You'll have plenty of time with the King in Rags when you're in the Cidhna Mine."_

_Arthur took a step away from the steel edge advancing towards his throat and pressed himself back-to-back with Alfred, where he could feel a shudder running up the man's spine. The Breton had more or less expected the traitorous Thonar would try killing or imprisoning them, the latter of which would only prolong their suffering before inevitable death. In any case, he had been hoping to get into the infamous mines since he learned of the high-profile prisoner being kept there. An audience with King Madanach had been his goal all along…too bad he had forgotten to share that with his current partner in crime._

" _Like hell," the warrior growled out, gripping the hilt of his two-handed sword tighter, as the temperature around him rose. "You're not taking us – "_

" _Fine. We'll come quietly!" Arthur cut in, raising his hands in surrender and making Alfred freeze behind him._

_The man in charge seemed pleased with this development but Alfred could barely contain his shock and frantic resistance to the idea. "Are you mad?"_

_Arthur kept his calm demeanor and shrugged. "I've been accused of worse things, but being illogical is hardly common. We are outnumbered in a close-quarters environment, surrounded on both sides by armed soldiers with weapons poised to kill us and no available escape routes that wouldn't lead us into a city filled with even more guards undoubtedly looking for us. Given that they knew to expect us here, I would venture that we were being followed this entire time…which means they know about what happened at Nepos's and more than likely this arrest will be justified by the misconstrued murder."_

_With that and an indifferent expression, the mage slowly turned to look at the all-too-smug captain behind his wall of sentries and frowned. "Did I leave anything out?"_

_The superior expression on the man's face answered his question and Arthur felt a strong grip take hold of his arms to arrest him. He suppressed his instinct to struggle but Alfred was having none of it. One guard tried to grab him and the half-blood slammed his fist so hard into the man's face that he flew into a wall and crumpled like a ragdoll._

_Arthur knew the reaction had been more knee-jerk than deliberate, but it did nothing to stop the other guards from rushing Alfred with their swords raised. The soldier keeping Arthur detained was yanking him away, but couldn't stop Arthur from making a last-ditch effort to save his cohort._

" _ENOUGH!"_

_His power-laced voice echoed off the stone to a thunderous degree and everyone halted in the wake of it. The guards were between glaring at Alfred and looking warily at Arthur, while the trapped half-blood was unable to take his eyes from the mage._

" _I said we would come quietly and we will. Drop the sword Alfred, and do not resist further," he said sternly…though he hoped Alfred could hear the silent '_ trust me _' he was desperately trying to convey._

_He didn't like the mercenary, but he had no desire to see him slain so needlessly._

_He watched color drain from his companion's face, as he stared at him with wide eyes. Arthur knew this would be difficult for the warrior, as Alfred really was a virtuous man who would find it unfathomable to be accused of and punished for a crime he didn't commit. A distraught expression crossed his face before he eventually dropped his sword and the guards immediately rushed to subdue him. Arthur winced as Alfred was dropped hard to the ground and forcibly bound with all due prejudice._

_He knew that he had likely just saved the man's life, but Arthur couldn't stop the guilt rising within him. Alfred was taking the cruel treatment without a protest, just as he had been told, and was suffering greatly for it._

_The captain, a man Arthur greatly detested, walked past the brutalization happening beside him and stood face to face with Arthur, giving him the same arrogant look as before._

" _You'll never see the sun again, you hear me? No one escapes Cidhna Mine," he sneered, grabbing Arthur's collar and jerking him forward. "So how's it feel to be a murderer?"_

_Arthur stared back at him and smiled. "It's quite the rush," he replied. "It excites me to think about adding you to my ledger."_

* * *

"I don't know…I guess I kind of expected him to be taller."

"Hah! He's a Breton, what do you expect? You can't believe anything with elf in it would be enough to fill a Nord's shadow."

"Yeah, but the boss still wants us to be careful. Size isn't everything, ya know."

"Yes, and I'm sure those were the lying words of your wife on your wedding night."

The sounds of fists colliding and angry jeers erupted somewhere behind him and roused him further. His head felt heavy and his vision wavered in a drug-filled haze. He felt ill and disoriented, even having to swallow despite his dry mouth and throat to keep from vomiting. His whole body felt dense and sore, as though it were trying to fill him in on the abuse he'd endured while unconscious. He closed his eyes again and tried filling his lungs to capacity to expel some of the stale air inside him, but something was preventing him from expanding his chest properly.

Without opening his eyes he tried moving his arms to shift the burden off of him, but couldn't even move his hands and felt the burn of ropes that had long since worn their way into his skin. He tried keeping calm in light of this new information and devised that someone had tied rope around his torso and ankles as well. His neck also felt tight but not from being bound…as sensation began returning to him he concluded that it was a bandage pulling at his skin.

He remembered now…that was how they'd been drugging him.

A little more alert and able to open his eyes without being overwhelmed, Arthur assessed that he'd been left on the ground with his back to the party who'd abducted him. It was night and he had no idea how many hours had passed since he and Alfred had been separated; regardless, it would always be far too many. Anger began to rise within him at the last memory he had of the fight in the mountains, how they'd mercilessly continued torturing Alfred when he could no longer fight back.

He would find every last one of them…and kill them.

' _Discord, wrath, promises of pain…it is always so easy to hear your call, little Dovahkiin.'_

Arthur felt a rush of heat flow through him and recognized the presence of the malevolent spirit immediately. The demonic soul of living fire residing within him, usually dormant, was stroking the flames of his anger and feeding on them. But being a Breton, the heir to a race of master conjurers, Arthur was not afraid of the presence and welcomed the Atronach, willingly giving her a feast of his rage.

He could sense this pleasing her and soon her aura completely filled him.

' _Perhaps I should have come to your aid before…oh the pain I feel in you,' she purred. 'Tell me to satisfy these desires now, little Dovahkiin…and consider them done.'_

Arthur continued staring ahead as she whispered all of her promises of destruction and chaos. He felt her reaching deep down into him and the moment she touched the last bit of his humanity, the only part that truly cared about something in this world other than power, her hunger spiked and he quickly seized her. His heart began to burn with her irritation, but he was used to her fire and hissed back his command, "Free me, then burn them  _all_."

"Garrt, he's awake."

The mage immediately froze as he sensed people approaching behind him and a dark chuckle filled his head. The spiteful demon that loved pain sensed even more of it coming and withdrew again to bide her time. Fury burst within him at her wicked betrayal, but his thoughts were cut short as someone grabbed him by the rope around his torso and turned him onto his back.

He stared up at the gathering of four men around him and dread began to coil in his stomach.

"Someone go get the vial and we'll put him out again."

No. He couldn't allow that, not again. He needed to stay conscious and get out of here to find Alfred. He had to think fast and do something to prolong the inevitable or coax the fickle Atronach back into obedience. He did the only thing he could think of to rile a Nord…

Insult his masculinity. 

"Yes, please get the vial. Garrt's only other recourse for putting me to sleep would be to bore me like his wife on their wedding night."

The largest of the band became wide-eyed and turned completely red, even more so as his fellows failed to stifle their chortles. It also halted the man going to procure whatever drug he'd been sent to find, but also earned Arthur a swift kick to the stomach that sent him curling onto his side in pain.

"Given that you were screaming like a forsaken bitch when we took you, you're not enough of a man to be making comments like that."

Arthur was still trying to right his breathing but managed to brush the comment off and smirk, "I'm sorry, have I injured your frail sensibilities? Wait...do you even understand words that big?"

No sooner had he finished his sentence had the insults flown and the Nord viciously grabbed his bindings, jerked him off the ground and slammed him back against a tree. Pain shattered his body, made only worse when a fist collided with his already tender midsection and would have doubled him over were he not pinned. Someone else had finally been spurred into motion and grabbed his aggressor's arm to stay it, trying to reason with him that they needed Arthur alive, but dear Garrt was having none of it. He threw his comrade off and hit Arthur again, nearly causing him to black out before pulling Arthur close and hissing.

"For an abomination's bitch, you seem to think you have a lot of ground to stand on. Jarl Stormcloak needs you alive but rest assured, there's a lot of pain a body can endure before death."

Arthur bit through the agony, drew in a breath despite the protest from his broken ribs, and spat in the infuriated Nord's face. "Better hope residue lycan cum isn't contagious."

The man lost it and Arthur braced for another blow but was instead dropped to the ground when two of the other Nords tackled his tormentor. Arthur was on his side again and having a hard time breathing, but at least he'd been spared another beating. He looked onto the men wrestling on the ground but quickly turned to the gleam of red catching his eye by one of the tents.

His staff.

"Knock it off, Garrt! If the commander finds out he'll kick all of our asses!"

"I don't care! This little bastard needs his fucking heart ripped out!"

 _Too late_ , Arthur thought then hastily put it aside to better survey the group.

With this talk of a commander, someone clearly larger and more fearsome than the small-minded Garrt, it occurred to Arthur that the man in blue he remembered from the mountain wasn't among them. There was no doubt in Arthur's mind that the man was the massive lycan who had all but destroyed Alfred. These lesser brutes were nothing to worry about when compared to that.

However, the thoughts of a greater challenge seemed to have roused the curiosity of the Atronach and he felt her stir again. It was about time. He was hurt and bleeding worse now than he'd been on the mountain when she hadn't seen fit to intervene during either.

"Listen, you'd do well not to talk for a while and just behave. We won't even have to drug you again if you would just mind your tongue."

One of the Nords crouched down in front of him and attempted to sit him up, though the rough repositioning caused the mage to growl out a curse through his locked jaw. Still, this man seemed more willing to negotiate than his fellows and Arthur immediately saw an opportunity.

"Perhaps I would be more amiable if you hadn't butchered my companion and carted me off to gods know where."

The man had the grace to look a bit ashamed before hardening his expression. "The werewolf isn't dead and we ordered that the Silver Hand keep him alive until we get to Windhelm and you agree to our jarl's proposal."

Though Arthur returned a shocked expression, he already knew that Alfred was still alive…though being in the custody of the Silver Hand was new and increased his urgency. But right now he needed to create a dialogue with this man and make the Nord think he had a chance to obtain his prisoner's cooperation.

"You swear this by your gods that they will keep to their word?" Arthur demanded, still playing up his act and giving the man the illusion he was in control.

The Nord quirked a smile and Arthur knew he'd bought it. "Yes, I swear on them that for the time being he's alive. We will provide a more material proof of life when we arrive in Windhelm, but our jarl is a man of his word and you needn't worry."

Arthur had only met Ulfric Stormcloak once during his near execution in Helgen, so he didn't have much to base his own opinion of the man on…save for the kidnappings he's ordered. "Will my companion be in Windhelm when we arrive? The only proof of life I'll accept is seeing him with my own eyes."

The man paused and shifted uncomfortably, telling Arthur that Alfred was definitely not in Windhelm…and thus he had no reason to be either. The mage stole a glance over to the other members of the group still trying to placate dear Garrt; it seemed they were having some success, which meant he was running out of time.

It was the reason he dropped pretenses and blurted out, "Tell me where they're keeping him and I'll let you live."

The Nord was startled and now looked at Arthur with only mild wariness, "You're not really in a position to be saying things like – "

Arthur turned his full venomous green eyes on the man and saw color instantly drain from his face. The Breton was in no mood for delay and it showed. "You have three – "

He'd seen the sheen of gold catching off the firelight before he finished his threat. When the man had leaned down to sit him up, a pendant tucked in his shirt fell out and dangled before Arthur like a pendulum. The small golden bird, with a crest of topaz and a crown of onyx, was forever poised for flight on outstretched wings. He had seen this ornament many times before…he'd felt it resting against his skin when the man who owned it would embrace him tightly or lie atop him during intimacy…

It was Alfred's, a gift from his mother and a treasure he held most dear. It was forever stored in a small velvet pouch Alfred kept on him at all times, so he wouldn't risk its safety when he changed. Seeing it now on this man's neck…his scorching hate could not be contained and the fires within him reached a fever pitch. This time there would be no waiting; his hellspawn would not disobey him again.

Arthur's expression barely betrayed the tempest inside of him, but the promise in his tone couldn't have been clearer. "I rescind my offer. Go join your comrades in hell."

Fire bled through the very pores of his body and flames rose up around him. The Nord shrieked and fell back, but not before Arthur's newly freed hand reached for him and wrenched Alfred's pendant from his neck. The treasure safe, Arthur sat back and watched passively as the rift to Oblivion opened before him and the horned head of the frenzied Daedra emerged.

It had taken the last of his energy to bring her incorporeal being into the world and so it would take time before he could move again, but it was worth it. The cries of terror from the damned, those who had wronged him and the only other being in this world that meant something to him, were a symphony to his grieving soul. He watched the massacre of his wardens, all being burned and eaten alive by his creature, passively…and felt nothing for any of them.

He held tightly onto the pendant in his hand and waited until he was strong enough to move again. When that time came, he would unleash his wrath upon this world that had broken the last shred of goodness in him.

 

_**To Be Continued…** _

 

* * *

_Notes from the Author (2013):_

Welcome back to the fic, everyone. Pie and I apologize for the delay in updating this and thank you all for your patience. We received many notes between here and Tumblr requesting for the scenario where Alfred finds out when Arthur is the Dragonborn, so we're going to give that to you in two parts. :') We'll be delivering that tale and the answers as to what was happening with Arthur during Alfred's "I Promise" chapter (Tale 5). I will give fair warning that Arthur's actions during this time period are very bloody, dark and may be difficult for some readers to handle. Please read the warnings at the top of each chapter carefully.

Thank you all again for sticking with us and this project, and thank you so much for all of your support we have received. :D We wish you all the best and hope you're looking forward to more of this project from us!

_Sincerely,_

_General Kitty Girl_

_&_

_Pie_


	10. God

_**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia or Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim. I am merely a fan who appreciates the ingenious glory of Hetalia's masterful tomfoolery and Skyrim's beauty._

_**Warning:** Strong Language, Graphic Scenes, Torture, Gore and Violence, First Person Narrative _

**Tale Ten Characters:**

**-** England/ Arthur Kirkland

 

 

**~God~**

**Tale Ten**

_"Merciless"_

 

' _I need you to run and not look back to see what I must do to protect you. Don't be afraid, they will never hurt you again. So trust me, remember my promise and keep going._

 _I will find you._ _'_

It starts in these hands; power pooled in blood running down my arms and igniting in my palms. It feels good when the wraps hiding evidence of my darkness are eaten away by the fire, bearing my scars and none of the burns to this world. It is a catalog of history in each and every mark, the last epitaphs of men with not even ashes left to mourn – but I, their executioner, will remember them forever. I see it in the eyes of these men before me…the fear, the knowledge that the newest self-inflicted wound upon my skin has sealed them.

The oblivious fools…the one they see is just the outlet for the deeper lesion they cut into my heart, the one still hemorrhaging and feeding the inferno crawling up my body and consuming me.

Grown men, self-proclaimed warriors who could never hold a candle to the life they stole from me, scream and try beating down the doors of their tomb to escape. But there is none, I made sure of it. The fires of my rage melted the paths to salvation long ago. I had been waiting for them, my hunters, in their home decorated with the heads of my beloved's kind. I gave them one chance to spare themselves execution before a jury of their victims, but they knew nothing of where the other half of my heart lay interred…and so, they will serve another purpose to me.

They will add to my wake of destruction and be burned into the minds of all who would come after them.

Standing upon this forgotten altar beneath the earth, I feel the muscle memory begin to take hold and move my arms on invisible strings. The incantation finds its way to my lips and my blood soaked fingers paint runes upon the air. The clock in my mind, the ancient dial governing man's mortality, begins to burn and weep tears of time before the terrors of this natural selection I bring.

I am a dragon, Akatosh's greatest creation and oldest adversary. I am the mortal embodiment of fire…with a soul that would burn Oblivion itself, and in this room…

I am god.

" _MERCY_!  _ **MERCY**_ ," are the long drawn out cries thrown at the feet of my fire, as unworthy offerings before judgment.

"I am not a god of mercy," I whisper, as I pull my arms back like the wings of the dragon I am. "Go to hell."

The swell of heat preceded the launch of my hands slamming against the ground. The earth itself shrieked in pain and erupted beneath my savage hellfire. The burst of the ground forced the flames upwards and exploded in a tidal wave energy. It rolled through the room with ravenous fury, slamming prey to the floor and tearing into it with igneous fangs that turned flesh to ash and blood to vapor. The roars of rage and victory rang in my ears, as I watched the morbid splendor of this gateway to purgatory I had summoned.

In that moment, encased in fire and in watching my power take form to smite those who had hurt me and my only love in this world…I felt strong.

Then, in this now silent crypt, the moment vanished into the ether, like a ghost that had never been. My enemies gone, my shadow a flickering companion in the pyre, and Alfred...

I was more alone then ever I could have imagined.

The comfort of might gone, I fell to my knees, surrounded by my sin, and overcome with grief. The tears that fell were no longer of blood, but ones lips had once been able to kiss away. The wounds numbed by purpose in vengeance were now gaping and the hands that would have kept them closed were absent. The damaged heart beneath my frail bones shattered all over again and I finally let the wail of sorrow within me find voice.

I was not closer to my goal; I was only clad in more sin and still blind. How many times had this scenario played out since I began my search, only to result in more regret and pain? These men deserved to die…there had been a time where I would have done what needed to be without ever feeling remorse. But then I'd been given a living conscience and all I could think about was his face burdened with disappointment and sadness.

Alfred never judged me, but forced me to judge myself.

" _I need you to look away. Run and don't look back…I'll find you. We'll be together soon, I promise."_

Those had been Alfred's words during the escape from Markarth so long ago. I hadn't looked back then or I might have seen the monster inside Alfred emerge, all to protect me.

I pray…Alfred, please do the same now and don't see what I've become.

**~Fin~**

* * *

_Original Notes from the Author (2014):_

Hello all and welcome back to the fic. I've been in a terribly self-conscious writing slump as of late, but having finally produced something has helped a lot. I don't often write 1st Person but this time, to get more inside of Arthur's head, I made an exception and hope it paid off.

If you've ever noticed Arthur's arm bandages, he wears them because he is a practitioner of blood magic. It's not his primary metaphysical weapon and it's only for the most extreme of cases but Arthur doesn't like displaying the results (or letting adversaries know he's willing to go that far). The spell he uses here is the most powerful Destruction spell in Skyrim, Firestorm (though I added this darker element to this power).

The events of "Markarth" he's referencing here will be explained more in detail in the conclusion of the "Dragonborn" fic, and the time period of this fic is during "I Promise" and "Dragonborn: Part I".

Thank you for reading~ ;v;

Sincerely,

Kelbora/General Kitty Girl


	11. The Pale

_**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia or Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim. I am merely a fan who appreciates the ingenious glory of Hetalia's masterful tomfoolery and Skyrim's beauty._

_**Warning:** Strong Language, Angst and Desolation_

**Tale Eleven Characters:**

**-** England/ Arthur Kirkland

 **-** America/ Alfred F. Jones

 

 

**~The Pale~**

**Tale Eleven**

_"Endless Winter"_

 

The Pale was a vast wasteland of rock, ice and snow. The sparse tree life made for an alpine graveyard buried in permafrost and blanketed with ash. A vindictive wind savaged the land and ensured all who dwelt in this terrible place shared in its misery. Neither the sun nor moon ever willingly governed here, resulting in a perpetual twilight. Clouds that wandered over the wretched skies above this frozen hell shattered to dust and covered all below in never ending fog. One would think this was a fabled circle of Oblivion from which the woeful souls of the dead could reach out from their forsaken purgatory, but even ghosts found this realm too cold for their touch and haunted elsewhere.

It made Arthur question the benefits of having undertaken this insane journey.

At present, the Breton was huddled in the only remnants of his past life he could lay claim to – a cloak his brother had given him before his exile from High Rock. The lightweight garment was rich blue and stitched with enchanted silver thread lining the fabric in protective runes. Everything it covered was shielded from the bitter elements, but sadly the garb could only shelter so much…and that was why Alfred was braving the venomous touch of the cloak's silver to curl around the mage in his lycan form.

Arthur had his face buried in his companion's warm amber colored fur, his hands tucked beneath his arms and Alfred's tail curved along his back. The ground had thankfully thawed due to Alfred's inhuman body heat and Arthur lay encircled in the massive creature's warmth.

No…it wasn't fair to call Alfred a creature. The man was still Alfred whether he held a sword or shook the earth with massive paws. The mage was leery of the kind of power his companion possessed, but the beast's yellow eyes still held that sentient intelligence he had always known of the half-Nord.

He was still there, still the same infectious pain in the ass he'd always been. Alfred had been both a plague and a blessing in his life, though Arthur would only ever admit aloud to the former. As he remained tucked beneath the aura of the werewolf's heat and protection, he harbored his gratitude in silence and tried to will himself to forget their situation and sleep. The steady rise and fall of Alfred's chest and his strong heartbeat were comforts to focus on instead of the howling wind. It helped, and soon Arthur found himself drifting from consciousness.

He didn't know how long he'd been asleep before the rumble of growing thunder in Alfred's body woke him, soon turning into an open snarl that erupted from lycan's mouth. Arthur opened his eyes and tensed, finding himself wanting to ask what was making Alfred's heckles rise but knowing the half-Nord couldn't answer as he was. The mage kept still until he felt one of Alfred's forepaws dig threateningly into the ground, causing the mage to finally turn over and brave the cold to see the danger beyond them.

Through the haze of snow, Arthur could see the outline of a wolf pacing a clipped perimeter several meters from them. The Breton watched the creature with apprehension at first, wrapping his hand around the staff beside him before realizing that such measures were unnecessary.

With his head clearer then when he first woke, he could make out how thin and ragged the animal was. The lackluster beast moved without the fluidity of a predator, looking less calculating and more desperate as it stepped. It never took its eyes off of them, but even in this weather Arthur could hear the pleading whines where he otherwise would have expected challenging growls. The beast jerked back and forth at Alfred's warnings to stay away, as though it were weighing whether death by a greater monster would be kinder than death by The Pale.

It was forlorn and scared, obviously a loner driven out of its natural environment by the greater packs that roamed the borderlands. Nature had not given it the means to survive in Oblivion's forgotten hell and it hadn't the time to adapt…

Arthur watched impassively, as instinct won out over despair and the wolf heeded Alfred's warnings before vanishing back into the wasteland. Alfred didn't relax until several minutes after the wolf vanished from sight, at which point he lowered himself back to his resting position around Arthur and nudged him reassuringly with his snout. The mage was quiet for a long while and tucked himself back against his companion's warm body, hoping to sleep…but couldn't.

He couldn't stop thinking about it.

"It's going to die, you know," he stated passively.

Alfred didn't respond beyond flicking his ears backwards and heaving a great sigh. There wasn't much more he could do, as he presently could not speak with a common tongue.

Arthur knew he was taking advantage of this when the words came to him, but he couldn't help it. "My family left me at the mercy of Skyrim much like that. They didn't expect me to survive either."

He fell quiet for a while at the memory. Before that terrible day when his world fell apart he had actually lived contently with his role in life. Being the youngest son of a king meant that he had status and none of the heavier responsibilities of his brothers. While they were being primed as warriors, leaders and politicians, he had spent his time in libraries and practicing magic with mentors who encouraged the talent they saw in him. Being largely left to his own devices had been welcoming for the aspiring mage, but it came at the cost of his father's intense scrutiny and final write off that he was the one disappointment of his heirs.

At least his mother had been kind. She was largely silent when it came to her husband but strong for all of her children – especially her youngest, who was often teased for his mother's favor. He hadn't known until her death that she harbored as much love as she did a great sense of guilt, the root of which brought about the apocalypse of his former life.

Arthur was an illegitimate heir to his father's name. He wasn't the result of marriage but of a night's indiscretion with a rogue member of the Foresworn, no less. What his mother had hoped would be her last chance to be forgiven had been her and her youngest son's damnation. The king had been pitiless and sent his wife to the grave branded a whore before turning his wrath on Arthur and killing him in every way but physical death. Had it not been for his brothers performing their last act of compassion for him, the scheduled execution would have completed their sire's revenge.

He remembered the events in the palace so vividly. While the eldest two kept all eyes averted, Emrys, his closest brother and truest friend, smuggled him out of High Rock with the only treasures he could afford to bring: a map marked with the path to Winterhold, a bag of provisions, an heirloom dagger, and a traveling cloak Emrys had enchanted to protect his brother from the worst nights Skrim could offer. The mad flight from home to the edge of The Reach had been mostly a blur to him, but the moment Emrys halted their horses and embraced him for the last time…he never forget that.

Arthur felt something heavy and warm rest on his shoulder and turned his eyes up to see Alfred's head there. The lycan was looking down at him with sympathetic eyes and gently patted his tail against the mage's back, causing Arthur to give a faint smile at Alfred's attempt at human gestures of support. He couldn't help reaching a hand up and rubbing it along the lycan's furry jawline, as Alfred leaned into the touch.

It was utterly ridiculous that this mythical night terror was trying to console him, but then again their entire relationship was ridiculous.

"Since they exiled me, I have learned that it's not just Skyrim…but this whole bloody planet that's mad and cruel. Aengeir of High Hrothgar told me that being the Dragonborn gave me the power to save this world, but so little of it has made me want to do anything but watch it burn," the Breton continued. "I started this journey for my own benefit, not the people of Nirn. I thought at first that the Divines were foolish to give this power to one so selfish and full of hate, but then I remember a dragon's true nature and feel I am justified."

Arthur fell silent for a while before tightening his hold in Alfred's mane and meeting his eyes with a callous stare. "This world expects me to sacrifice my life for it, but I would sooner let it wither and die, as nature intends it to."

Alfred never broke eye contact and in his lycan form it was impossible to tell if the man was judging him. In a way, that had been one of the reasons Arthur had opened up as he did, because he wouldn't have to fear the look of disappointment or dread on his only friend's face. Perhaps he was going soft or just more sensitive then he let himself believe, but the thought of Alfred directing hurt or disgust at him was painful to think about.

He didn't know when the half-blood's opinion of him became so important, but there was no denying the truth of it now.

So needless to say, when a giant, wet tongue ran chin to forehead up his face he was stunned to speechlessness. He didn't even have time to recover before it happened again just prior to him receiving a head butt to his torso that shoved him onto his back. He found his voice then and barked out Alfred's name that he might stop, but the werewolf seemed to be ignoring him and continued slathering his face and neck with his slobber.

"You  _mongrel_! Stop it and get off of me!" He screeched while trying to shove the offending maul away.

He only earned an amused snort for his efforts and Alfred's teeth grabbing the brim of his hood to yank it down over his face. Arthur raged at the transgression and by the time he managed to pull the hood back and glare at his cohort, Alfred was holding his head high with a giant canine grin on his face. Arthur had quickly reached his boiling point with the fluffy enigma, but was silenced when Alfred bowed his head and pressed his nose to the Breton's.

Arthur knew this in canine language to be a sign of affection, but the subsequent rest of Alfred's snout beneath his chin was submission.

Alfred held his position with his eyes downcast and ears pinned back, until Arthur lifted his hands to run his fingers through his fur again. He continued absently petting him, as he mulled over what Alfred was trying to say…other than, perhaps, he was due for a bath and then apologized for the insult.

But Alfred didn't seem the least bit guilty about anything. In fact, he seemed…rather relaxed, even happy, as his tail thumped lightly against the mage's back.

"I find it hard to believe a do-gooder like you would be so enthusiastic about my decision to let the world rot," he said, as he continued to pet Alfred then sighed. "I don't think I'll ever quite understand you."

Alfred returned a strange rolling growl that Arthur could only interpret as a laugh. The lycan then tucked the mage back against him and curled protectively around him once more. Arthur took the opportunity to wipe off some of the slobber in Alfred's fur, both out of spite and because it was disgusting. The werewolf didn't seem to mind and remained still until Arthur fell back to sleep.

Though he remained alert to the dangers of the world around him, Alfred's eyes never left his companion's face.

He had known since first meeting Arthur in Riften that he had darkness clouding his soul; it was blatant in the smell of black magic around him and the insatiable purpose in his eyes. Had it not been a matter of honor to repay his debt, Alfred doubted he would have ever followed the mage out of town. Still…even when considering all of the trials of their journey (especially what happened at Markarth) he didn't regret it. Arthur's words now about letting the world burn didn't make him regret it either.

He had seen enough good in Arthur to hold out hope that when the time came he would rather save the world than damn it, if only out of spite that it might continue to spin on because he willed it so.

 

**~Fin~**

 

* * *

_Original Notes from the Author (2013):_

Hello everyone and welcome back to the fic. This was actually a challenge prompt Pie had asked me to do a while ago and the original idea inspiration for one of the first official arts of this project, with Lycan!Alfred wrapped around Arthur in a mountain cave. I changed the location to The Pale (which is an actual place in the game) because Alfred and Arthur's journey would have to take them through it between the " _Half-Nothings_ " and  _"Alpha"_  fics in the timeline. :') I'm actually pleased to say that another fan beat me to posting a Pale location fic and I'm so happy to promote  **fauxreblogsthings** , with her short story and complimentary artwork that can be found both on my profile page and on the  _Ask Skyrim USUK_  Ask Blog. Thank you to Faux once again and Pie and I hope you all have enjoyed this edition to the project!

_Sincerely,_

_General Kitty Girl / Kelbora_

_&_

_Pie_


	12. Dragonborn: Part II

_**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia or Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim. I am merely a fan who appreciates the ingenious glory of Hetalia's masterful tomfoolery and Skyrim's beauty._

_**Warnings:** Angst, Torture, Blood, Violence and Death_

**Tale Twelve Characters:**

**-** England/ Arthur Kirkland

 **-** America/ Alfred F. Jones

 

 

**~Dragonborn: Part II~**

**Tale Twelve**

" _Don't look back_ "

 

More than a month of searching had finally come to an end, and what he found was a reality far worse than any nightmare.

Though he was finally here, Alfred lay withered and dying just out of reach. This precious soul was now like a broken doll, clothed in rags, and left to die in a silver cage lined with blood and filth stained straw. The dehumanizing treatment had proven too much for the half-Nord, who so coveted his humanity; and now there was no sign of life left.

This man, his wonderful and loyal friend, who changed the course of the world's fate without ever knowing it, was nothing but a shadow because of him.

"Hey you," one of the guards snapped, "stop gawking at it and hurry up! That one's as good as dead and not worth the time."

The mage immediately tensed and had to force the rush of fire in his blood not to manifest and ruin his cover. For the first time in more than a month he had proof that Alfred was still alive. He was right here, just an arm's length away, still breathing and still bleeding…

The rest of this wretched population wouldn't be able to say that soon, and it was the only thought that enabled him to pull the hood of his robe lower and swallow his heart's demand for vengeance.

As the guard called again for all "actual human beings" to exit the prison, Arthur brushed his fingers against the cage and whispered the incantation he'd forced himself to perfect in just a few days. The rush of warmth he had dammed earlier spread down his arm and pooled at his fingertips, bleeding from his pores and seeping into the metal in his hands.

Changing silver to gold, and leaving a silent promise of hope.

* * *

_They had been taken into the mines with black canvas covering their heads and hastily deposited into a cell. The door had been shut and locked before Arthur removed his shroud and found that the guards had left Alfred bound head to foot beside him. The half-Nord was roughed up and it was hard to tell what blood was his or not, so the mage quickly released the man's binds and began assessing for injury._

_However, when Alfred was free he shoved the Breton back and snarled at the man contemptuously. "Get off of me!" Alfred barked out. "I think you've helped enough."_

_The move earned the blond a glare and Arthur crossed his arms as he stood over him. "I suppose if you can be impolite then you're fine. Though the next time I tell you to do something it would be wisest to comply, so things like this don't happen to you."_

" _You got us thrown in prison, Arthur. A fucking_ silver _mine!" the half-Nord shouted, getting to his feet and practically screaming in the mage's face. "Oh yeah, listening to you has really done me wonders. Thanks a lot!"_

_Color in Arthur's cheeks rose and he clenched his fists to keep from matching the other's tone. "Seeing as how we're both still alive, you're welcome. You may be near indestructible but I have a hard time believing that even you could survive a battle against every guard and assassin in this city. We needed to get into the mine and this was the best way."_

" _Y-you wanted to end up here?" Alfred exclaimed belligerently, getting mere inches from Arthur's face. "When were you planning to share that plan with me? Would it have been before or after we lost all of our armor and gear, ended up accused of murder, and trapped underground in an inescapable hole?"_

_Arthur was more than ready to violently slap some sense into him, but stopped as he noticed the intense heat radiating from the half-Nord. It happened sometimes that Alfred's body temperature would rise to near boiling degree, usually when he was feeling threatened or extremely stressed. Arthur had also noted the phenomenon when he had been nursing the other back to health in Riften, thinking it was just a bad fever that wouldn't break. The mage was more than certain the marvel was tied to Alfred's abnormal strength and healing abilities…which he still couldn't fully explain._

_It reminded him to think better of getting physical with the man and in taking a step back he seemed to snap the other out of his state. The half-Nord now just seemed frustrated and ashamed._

_Keys rattling in the cell door broke the moment and a tall, dark-skinned guard in steel armor walked in. It took the mage a moment to process exactly what he was seeing, but eventually he realized that this person was an Orc...a female Orc (at least he assumed it was female, considering the cut of the armor). The guard was an imposing figure, even compared to Alfred, and stood at the door idly tapping the sword at her side and watching the pair with eyes the color of lifeless coals._

" _All right, prisoners, eyes front," she commanded, clearly enjoying her job and disdain for the new inmates. "You're in Cidhna Mine now and we expect you to earn your keep."_

_Arthur and Alfred exchanged glances before the half-blood voiced what they both were thinking, "What exactly does that mean?"_

_The guard focused her attention on Alfred, sizing him up, and the rhythm of the finger tapping her sword increased. "There's no resting your hides in a cell in this prison. Here, you work," she replied and her lips curled back into a yellow toothed grin. "You'll mine ore until you start throwing up silver bars. You got it?"_

_The agitation coming from Alfred was almost palpable and Arthur's concern for his abnormal lack of restraint was growing. The mercenary was usually so calm in any situation, as he had yet to see anything but displays of confidence and the occasional moral outburst from him. Perhaps it was the thought of being underground that upset the half-blood so much, or maybe just the thought of being imprisoned truly was as horrible to him as being buried alive. Regardless of what the hang up was, Alfred needed to get it together for both of their sakes._

" _All right, open her up!" the guard barked and suddenly the gears controlling the precautionary wall separating the cell from the mine began to turn._

_The guard gave them one last look before heading to the catwalk outside and Arthur guessed this was their cue to go down to the excavating area. It took him braving the first few steps to spur Alfred into motion, but even the mage could feel just how reluctant he was._

_The world outside of the cell was only slightly brighter than in it. Torches lined every dirt-covered wall and crude wooden scaffolds connected various earthen walkways to the stairs leading to the bottom of a vast pit, the center of which hosted a virtually abandoned bonfire. It was a leap of faith trusting the integrity of the supports to their weight, but eventually Arthur managed to lead the way down until he and Alfred were on solid ground._

_The bottom of the quarry was so cold that their breath was visible and their boots could not protect them from the frosty bite of the terrain. Looking up from their position, all either of them could see was an empty darkness. It was as if someone had opened up a rift to Oblivion and tossed them in, like a pair of torches thrown into a hole to judge its depth. But neither of them had any illusions that anyone topside was looking for them; the world would never have noticed that they were gone. Lights thrown down here were meant to be forgotten and die, but unlike the sparse population gathered around the fire pit, Arthur had no intentions of playing a willing party to this fate._

" _Come along," Arthur began, breaking his companion's disheartened search for an end to the darkness above. "We need to find Madanach."_

_Arthur had already begun moving towards the fire in the center of the area when he noticed the lack of movement behind him. He turned and found that Alfred hadn't moved and was staring at the path ahead looking…ill._

_Despite the cold, Alfred was sweating profusely. The half-Nord's respirations seemed restricted and his complexion was ashen in the firelight. If Arthur didn't know any better he would think that Alfred was frightened within an inch of his life, but that just wasn't Alfred. The man had engaged in a hopeless fight with a dragon before they met and had since undertaken numerous precarious ventures, including remaining bound to him. Alfred did have a capacity for fear, yes, but nothing to a paralytic degree, and right now the man looked like a stone tribute to terror._

" _Alfred, we're not getting out of here any faster by staying – "_

" _I can't go in there," the half-Nord bluntly cut the mage off in a shaky voice._

" _Can't or won't?" Arthur retorted, getting rather irritated with this atypical resistance. "Regardless of what happened above we're down here now and it is in our best interests to work together. We need to find Madanach and survive this place long enough to escape."_

" _And what is a man already imprisoned in this abyss for over a decade going to do to help us?" Alfred shouted sounding so abnormally frantic that it stopped the mage short._

_Without skipping a beat, Alfred drew closer and continued raving. "What could this man possibly have or do that was worth getting labeled criminals and sentenced to life in here? Tell me, Arthur, what was so damn important that it merited killing those people?" the half-Nord shouted, now with Arthur backed up to the edge of the fire pit. "Do you intend to have me kill this Madanach too, or are you going to do it yourself?"_

_Arthur stared at Alfred wide-eyed and slack-jawed. He felt the heat of the fire against his back, but even in Alfred's rage he knew the man wouldn't let him fall in. Alfred was still exuded an aura of menace but had stopped advancing and there was no violent intent in his face. He hated hurting people and even now was remembering his promise to protect the other._

_Seeing Alfred acting so unlike himself, yet still managing to be true to his nature…Arthur couldn't ignore how cruel he had been._

_More than once now he had dragged Alfred into a situation where the half-Nord had been forced to kill. Though Arthur never enjoyed the act either, he had just come to accept it as another part of survival. He hadn't been forced to concede such a reality until he'd been exiled from High Rock and had to adapt to how incredibly violent it was beyond the borders he had always known. He had gone beyond learning magic in just a defensive capacity and used his powers meant for killing dragons to kill mortals who threatened him. In times when he felt no other options were worth exploring, he had imposed his survivalist philosophies on Alfred and expected him to act as the Breton had learned to. Some would call him a monster for this and maybe he was…_

_But he'd rather be a living monster than a dead one._

_Without a word, Arthur recomposed his face and shoved the half-Nord away from him. That Alfred allowed the gesture further proved to Arthur that the man was all show and wouldn't act on his anger, which caused the Breton to glare and curl his lip in disgust._

" _I don't have time to fret over morals and ideologies, and I certainly don't have time to console your guilty conscience. So, if it makes you feel better, blame everything on me and get out of my way. But know this," the mage hissed. "There was nothing stopping you from leaving a long time ago."_

_Arthur turned on heel then and started away, but it didn't stop Alfred from taking one last shot. "I don't run away from my responsibilities, Arthur. Can you honestly say the same?"_

_Arthur never responded and continued walking towards the barred door guarded by a murderous Orc in the distance. He never once looked back, just as he'd learned never to do since being exiled to Skyrim._

_The terrors before him were preferable to the judgment behind him any day._

* * *

The vial empty with the objective of its contents complete, Arthur discarded the empty vessel, not caring where it landed amongst the carnage. The remaining underlings he hadn't disposed of when he first arrived were sprawled across the floor and tables of the dining room, all victims of his specially synthesized poison. As far as he was concerned, justice had been served and a good deal of the obstacles between the prison and his escape route were gone.

Earlier, while his brew had been serving its purpose, he had saddled and packed two horses outside for the long road ahead. He'd hidden them in the brush not far from where he'd stashed the body of the peon he had initially killed to gain access to the Silver Hand's fortress: Gallows Rock. It was a remote location, surrounded by imposing terrain, and situated atop a vast array of ancient catacombs. The decrepit keep was perfect for the organization's needs, but Arthur intended to use the very factors that made it such an asset to destroy it.

The second phase of his justice would come from the liberation of the starved pack of werewolves downstairs. As there was no way to out run or hide from such a hoard in a confined place like this, it assured that no mortal souls were getting out alive.

Stepping over the bodies littering the floor, Arthur pulled the cloak tighter around his form and stepped out into the hall, locking the door behind him. Everything was in place and he knew exactly what he had to do next. For his part, timing would be the most crucial element of this operation and the rest…was up to Alfred.

The mage's heart ached remembering the sight of Alfred so broken and lifeless, just as he'd been when they'd been attacked and separated on the mountain. All of the man's fighting spirit seemed gone…but they both needed it to escape from this place. He didn't believe any gods were looking out for him after all the things he'd done to get this far, but he still prayed to whoever would listen that something of his companion was still alive inside that shell.

Arthur set his fears aside and forced himself to focus on the door to the lycan prison. With the evening guards already neutralized in the dining room, Arthur didn't concern himself with anything more than the pick in his hands and manipulating the heavy lock. Having spent more than a year with the Thieves' Guild after his escape from Helgen, the task proved simple…but preparing himself for what lay beyond it was more complicated.

Closing his eyes he took a deep breath and resolved himself to a single thought: He was taking Alfred home; and gods help anyone who tried to stop him.

The bolt clicked and Arthur stood, shouldering the door open only enough to slip inside before resealing it. The prison was pitch black and Arthur had to steady himself with a hand on the slime-covered wall, as he descended the steps. Sounds and smells of the most unnatural kind assailed him, but he forcibly blocked it out to concentrate on counting…

Earlier in the day he'd mapped out the entire dungeon in numbers, knowing he would have to infiltrate it long after the lights had been doused for the night. With his eyes closed and his hand keeping him along the wall, Arthur waited until he was finally on the ground before casting his first spell, which signaled the start of his mental clock.

Now invisible, Arthur moved faster in getting to the narrow aisle behind the cells that were barred on all sides, making the prisoners completely vulnerable to scrutiny. Though it was impossible to see anything right now, Arthur could hear intermitted sobs, prayers, curses, and now and then an occasional spat between inmates. It worried him that there was still no sound coming from where he knew Alfred's cage would be, and soon he was right behind it…standing still, invisible, and blind…waiting.

He couldn't hear a thing. There was no movement inside and he couldn't risk casting light to see if Alfred was even still alive. His heart clenched and he tentatively reached out to touch the bars of the cage, felt how cold the metal was, and slowly sank to his knees.

He didn't want to be too late, not again. The first time he'd seen Alfred he had wanted to rip the cage apart and take him away from this hell. However, in Alfred's condition they wouldn't have made it far enough. Arthur had to swallow his despair then just as he did now, and silently beg for Alfred to get up and move. By the time the night was over and the last of Arthur's spells were cast, the mage would be drained and unable to completely support them both. He knew that going into this operation, which was why he had taken care of the majority of their obstacles with a dagger and poison. He needed all of his strength to keep his transmutation and invisibility spells intact, and soon he would need to cast a wider ranged transmutation to unleash the chaos he and Alfred would need to escape.

Alfred couldn't be past the point of no return…because Arthur knew there would be nothing left in life worth redeeming himself for.

* * *

_It was chaos._

_After having killed a man to gain an audience with the King in Rags, Arthur's prediction that Madanach could have escaped at any time and was only waiting for the most advantageous moment was confirmed. The mage had come here to give him just such a moment, and after striking his deal with Madanach he had gained the Bretish allies he had hoped to and assurance that the message to his brother that Wayrest was in danger would be delivered._

_The dragons were coming, and the world west of Skyrim had no idea._

_Now, having rallied his brethren, the furious and vengeful survivors of the Cidhna Mines were trying to fight off the guards and escape into the Dwarven tunnels Madanach had discovered and kept hidden all these years. In the midst of it, Arthur was desperately trying to find his companion, who he hadn't seen since their initial spat upon arrival. With the mission complete, he had no more reason to stay and wanted to grab Alfred and escape. He pushed his way through the fleeing and warring masses, trying to spot the half-blood, but couldn't between getting shoved into walls or knocked to the earthen floor. He had almost made it to the fire pit when a large body slammed into him and pinned him to the ground._

_The corpse of a fellow inmate was forcing the air from his body. He clawed at the ground, struggling to dislodge the weight and rise but he couldn't. Panic nearly wormed its way into him, when the body was swiftly lifted and tossed into a crowd of combatants._

_The startled mage only managed to look up for a brief second, before he was snatched up and hauled through a violently made path leading back the way he'd come. His savior shielded him from the arrows and blades that passed, even taking a few hits in his defense, but never slowed the pace. They crossed over into the antechamber to the escape tunnel before the pair tumbled to the ground, leaving Arthur partially covered by the other, whose body he could feel violently trembling._

_Arthur and Alfred's eyes finally met, and what Arthur saw stopped his heart._

_Alfred looked savage and covered in blood. The Breton stared wide-eyed and disbelievingly that Alfred was even still standing with so many wounds and arrows embedded in his body. But it was aura of tension around him that was screaming for violence that shook Arthur to his core. He had never before seen such intense and barely restrained ferocity in another being, and Alfred looked as though he was only just holding it together. A horrible moment of paralysis overcame the mage and he let out a short scream when Alfred grabbed him by the collar and yanked him close._

" _Alfred, what – "_

" _I need you to run and not look back!" the half-Nord cut him off and suddenly doubled over, clutching his mid-section._

_Arthur immediately came to and grasped Alfred's arm in concern, "A-Alfred, you're hurt. We have to go – together. I can help – "_

" _I said run," Alfred growled out in a near inhuman voice and tightened his hand in Arthur's collar to a threatening degree. "And don't look back to see what I must do to protect you."_

_Sweat poured down Arthur's face and he couldn't stop his shivering. The situation was frightening enough, but something exuding from Alfred right now terrified him. He hadn't experienced this level of fear since the first time he'd encountered a dragon…it was the primordial knowledge that he was prey before a greater predator. His instincts were telling him that he was trapped and about to be eaten, and somehow it was overriding logic that he wasn't in the presence of a monster - it was Alfred._

_No sooner had he thought that did he see the flash of something in Alfred's eyes, and suddenly the half-Nord threw him as far as he could into the entrance of the escape tunnel. The mage hit the ground hard and clambered to stop himself before tumbling into an adjacent wall, colliding hard and feeling his entire side go numb before blaring agony assailed him._

_Wracked with pain, he choked out a few gasps before barely managing to push himself up, only to notice the light from the prison starting to dim. He snapped his head up and he cried out Alfred's name as the mercenary sealed the way back into the prison with a large boulder._

_Arthur kept shouting for Alfred and forced himself to his feet, holding his still throbbing side and staggering towards the barrier separating him from his companion. The moment he first pounded his fist against the rock he knew it was immovable. Something inside him fractured then and an overwhelming sense of guilt flooded him._

_This was his fault. He could lie all he wanted to, but he never really gave Alfred a choice about being trapped in this awful place. He had counted on Alfred following him into hell the whole time because he knew what kind of man Alfred was…a good one, who kept his word._

_He had just killed the best man he'd ever known to protect people who didn't even acknowledge his existence any more._

_The realization froze and finally broke him. He hadn't shed a tear since that shameful night he'd woken from a nightmarish memory of Helgen and Alfred had been compassionate enough to give him company through it, without ever holding it against him. Now, he couldn't stop the silent tears from flowing and he was alone again, as the best thing that had happened to him since his exile was dying beyond this wall he'd erected to protect him. However furious Alfred had still been with him, he kept to his word and stood as the shield he had promised to be._

_Arthur knew he never deserved that, not for how he had treated Alfred since the start of their journey together. He was being given an extension to do what needed to be done and the only way to atone for even a fraction of his sins was to honor Alfred's last command:_

_'Run and don't look back.'_

_The mage stopped trying to move the rock and turned away from his companion's tomb. He took hold of his injured side and made his way through the tunnels to freedom, back out into the now burning city of Markarth. But he wouldn't be staying long to revel in the Foresworn's victory…_

_On the promise he would kill it, Madanach had given him the location of a dragon's nesting place in the nearby mountains and he fully intended to take his grief out on a fellow monster most deserving of pain._

* * *

It was a subtle sound at first, just the scraping of something over straw, and then the harsh struggles of exertion. Arthur's eyes flew open and he held his breath until he felt a hand grasp the bar beside him. He could feel the warmth of another against his face and he knew it meant Alfred was truly alive…and healing. The mage kept staring ahead into the darkness, as he listened to his companion giving hope one more shot.

Arthur's breath hitched and a sob escaped him, but he didn't care. No one could see him cry and right now he had every reason to. He turned his face and rested his cheek on the warming metal, locking his jaw against the words that so desperately wanted to come out and only spoke them in his mind.

' _Keep going, Alfred. Keep going, my love, and know that this will be over soon. That's it…You've always been so resilient and even now I admire your strength. I know it hurts…I know you never deserved this hurt..._

_It's my fault all of this has happened…and I pledge to spend the rest of eternity atoning for what I've done to you._

_I can't accept your forgiveness until you're free in every way.'_

Throughout the night, Alfred continued to relearn the mechanics of his body and Arthur encouraged him in silence. Whenever Alfred faltered or fell, Arthur had to clutch his own arms to keep from reaching out; and whenever Alfred managed to pull himself up and finally stay standing, Arthur had to bite his tongue not to praise him. The tears never stopped and the strain on Arthur's body as he continued keeping the invisibility spell in place was taking its toll. He was so tired and knew his month of no rest and lack of practice with the spell was to blame, but it could not be avoided.

He couldn't risk revealing himself to Alfred without sending the rest of the desperate inmates into a frenzy, so he kept hidden and continued trying to recover his energy.

Arthur had just renewed the invisibility spell once more, still forcing his body to remain upright, when the sound of the prison door opening echoed in the darkness. The mage shook the fatigue from his mind and quickly oriented himself enough to stand. He felt his balance shake and held onto Alfred's cell for support, when finally the torches along the walls were lit.

The darkness lifted for the first time, and Arthur looked to see that his hand was just above Alfred's. His eyes travelled up and saw Alfred's barely clothed back poorly hiding the inadequately healed lash marks beneath. He couldn't stop staring at how thin and malnourished the man was, and how terribly marred his body was with filth and old blood stains. The skin around his neck and wrists were so badly burned by silver that his naked bones were visible, and his face…

His beloved looked ashen and petrified, with eyes locked on the guards who had now noticed and were walking towards him.

Exhaustion forgotten, Arthur let the fury of his inner demons fill him. His expression hardened and his purpose to bring death upon this place rekindled.

The newest inmate was a massive brute, practically a mammoth and riddled with old scars, and Arthur's first target. As the guards neared Alfred, Arthur walked to other prisoner's cell and cast his spell. One touch to the bars and they changed to gold, another and he released his alchemically crafted little spider to attach itself to his victim.

He knew when its fangs had embedded themselves into the man's body and the potent spell had taken effect. Blank eyes turned towards him the mage whispered, "Unleash your beast and kill them all."

The command was immediately obeyed and Arthur stepped back, as the howl erupted and the change began. The man's body began to break, shift and reform. Fangs, claws, and fur sprouted from the now towering figure that was too large for its enclosure. Arthur quickly moved out of the way, as the cage burst apart and the monster roared.

With his first harbinger released, Arthur repeated the process with two more cells and liberated more of his temporarily mind-controlled executioners to let the massacre begin.

As his body and time seemed to slow from the sudden loss of energy his spells cost him, Arthur stood dazed and looking at the werewolves ripping the still screaming guards apart. Blood was everywhere and creating a mural of red and gore over everything. There was an odd sense of peace inside of him that he knew shouldn't be there…but for a moment, all he could see was chaos and bask in it.

This…god-like feeling…is what being a dragon felt like.

* * *

_He stood over the corpse of the Elder Dragon and watched its body burn. This was only the third time he had successfully slayed a dragon, but already the spectacular achievement had lost its wonder. The lair he'd come so far to find was now painted with blood and lined with the bones of men and beasts the creature had eaten over time. Its broken scales were scattered about, like ruined shields with their handler no more than a blacked husk._

_Finally, at the center of the carcass, the amber glow of a soul radiated and Arthur did nothing more than watch, as it stretched forth its hand and latched onto him._

_The wind exploded around him and the resonance of his own soul matched the tune of the dragon's. His spirit called to it and the dwindling light rushed forth and collided with his aura. The initial hit always knocked him back a step, but soon his breath returned and he inhaled the essence of his quarry._

_The taste of ages filled his mouth and pores. Thousands of years of victory, of glory, flooded him with a taste so sweet it had nowhere to go but bitterly down. The sourness of fury, of defeat and resentment of man, felt like poison in his belly and churned within him until excitement ignited the blaze within._

_Power. Incredible power. This was the best part of consumption and every fiber of his being felt so_ alive _! The energy trilled in his veins and constricted every muscle, as fire surged through his body. All the grief and remorse he'd endured since the escape from Markarth burned to ashes before this feeling and his magic burst with rejuvenation. He opened his eyes and could see the world as the beast now within him once had, making the heavens a conquered throne of stars. The mountains were naught but sentinels in his kingdom and all the seas were loyalists clamoring to bask upon his shores. The skies broke out in storms at his anger and the earth quaked in fear, just as all the two-legged insects at his feet danced and died at his pleasure._

_Mortality was a disease that would never touch him, just as Oblivion was a realm forever jealous that it would never have him._

_He was a god._

_The soul bending to its fate within him, Arthur felt the winds calm and his body begin relax. His senses were still incredibly sharpened and with the last of his vision he turned to see the man standing behind him at the mouth to the lair. They stared at each other for a long moment and it was only after the mage blinked away the last of the dragon's eyes did he recognize who it was._

_Watching him with an expression of awe and fear was Alfred, completely alive and unscathed. He was wearing the armor of a guard of Markarth and carrying a large sword speckled with blood. He seemed rooted to the spot and couldn't take his eyes from the mage, as though he didn't know…or just didn't want to recognize him._

_Arthur's heart began to pound and when he took a step he staggered, as his equilibrium had not returned to normal yet. The gravity of the situation finally hit him when he realized that Alfred had made no move to help him. Their eyes met again and Arthur recognized that look on Alfred's face…_

_Like prey before a greater predator…and Arthur was that predator._

" _What are you?"_

_No amount of joy at his partner's return or residual power from absorbing the dragon's soul could give him any pleasure in hearing those words from Alfred's mouth. His earlier elation at being a god vanished and all that was left was vulnerability and shame._

_It was so new to him, and in not knowing how to process these feelings he steeled his expression and his own indomitable soul stirred._

" _I am the descendent of the covenant between divine Akatosh and St. Alessia…_ Dovah Sos _incarnate. I am_ Dovahkiin _, the vessel that consumes the souls of my immortal kin to master the_ Thu'um _."_

_Alfred continued to stare incomprehensibly and slowly shook his head, "I don't…understand…"_

_No. Of course he wouldn't. No one would._

_No one in this world knew what it was like to be a living god and a monster._

" _I am the Dragonborn, Alfred," he stated and even behind his hardened mask he felt his heart constrict in pain. "And for the sake of your life, you should never have come back."_

 

**~Fin~**

 

* * *

 _Original Notes from the Author (2014)_ :

I know this Tale has been highly anticipated and a very long time in the making; and for that, I'm sorry. This story concludes the 3 segments depicting the events between Markarth (in the flashbacks) and the liberation of Alfred from the Silver Hand. I hope this last piece detailing what happened from Arthur's point of view answers a lot of questions about Arthur's character and will explain the motives behind many of his actions later in the timeline. Pie and I have designed Arthur to be a very complex and dynamic character, and we sincerely hope we've achieved that.

-The scenes and dialogue in the Markarth scenes are actual in-game references that took several sessions of watching gameplay to transpose.

-Gallow's Rock is also an actual place in the game and, though its internal workings were expanded for the uses of this story, can be explored in Skyrim. Also, please note that the Silver Hand are much more organized and wide spread in this fic.

-The spells Arthur uses here are high-grade spells and taxing. Pie and I had to do some clever math to deduce how strong Arthur would have to be at this point in the storyline to pull it off. Also, the spider used is inaccessible to alchemize until later in the game; however, that wouldn't stop Arthur from procuring the rare gems via the black market and even less savory means.

-The Elder Dragon in Dragontooth Crater, located in the northern region of The Reach, is also an in game reference. For those of you playing and haven't done this already, there's a Word of Power the dragon is guarding...so make sure to get it! (Know that this is a Shout Arthur and Alfred use very effectively together, as its wind based and increases attack speed)

:) Eternal disclaimer about author liberties~

:') Thank you to all of our fans and followers, both on and here on the Ask Blog. We appreciate all of the support and continued enthusiasm you all have for our project. We hope there won't be so much time in between our next update and wish you all the best!

_Sincerely,_

_General Kitty Girl/Kelbora_

_&_

_Pie_


	13. Legacy

_**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia or Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim. I am merely a fan who appreciates the ingenious glory of Hetalia's masterful tomfoolery and Skyrim's beauty._

_**Warning:** Strong Language, Graphic Scenes, Angst and Violence_

**Tale Eleven Characters:**

**-** England/ Arthur Kirkland

 **-** America/ Alfred F. Jones

 **-** Canada/ Matthew Williams

 **-** Spain/ Antonio Fernandez Carriedo

 **-** Prussia/ Gilbert Beilschmidt

 **-** France/ Francis Bonnefoy

 

**~Legacy: Part 1~**

**Tale Eleven**

_"All men are judged"_

 

The final days of autumn were something to celebrate in a place like Solitude. It was the last chance the citizens of this mountain city had to gather and enjoy the company of others beyond the isolating four corners of their winter homes. The taverns tonight were filled with jovial laughter, intoxicated choruses and the occasional drunken misstep that just increased the hysterics in the air. The festivities were even spilling out into the streets, where the guards were being lax on discipline for the sake of the holidays. The smell of alcohol and humans was everywhere; it really wasn't very pleasant.

The lone blond seated in the tavern across the street from the main gate remained impatient, anxious and more than a little aggravated by the atmosphere. The half-Nord was usually a rather extroverted fellow, but tonight he was having none of it. His companion had left him to wait as far from the Imperial palace as possible, while still remaining in the city. Given Arthur's fame being the Dragonborn and an unofficial ally of the Imperial army, it was far easier for him to move around than a half-blooded freelancer, whose now infamous father (a man he bore a terrible resemblance to) had become a high-ranking member of the rebel Stormcloaks. It frustrated Alfred to no end that he wasn't at Arthur's side to protect him, but in this case the protection would likely be needed the other way around. He couldn't ruin Arthur's chances with the jarl, they both had agreed…but that didn't mean he had to like it.

Or be sober for it.

He drank his unnumbered tankard in silence and was so far removed from the theatrics around him that he never acknowledged the women attempting to seduce him, or the occasional drunk falling into one of the stools next to him. He only spoke when ordering another drink and that was it.

He remained trapped in this routine until another blond showed up around the corner of his eye. Sadly, the pair of eyes that returned his gaze was not the green he had hoped.

He sighed and went back to his ale.

"I'm sorry. Is this seat taken?" The violet-eyed young man asked.

Alfred shrugged indifferently, "Doesn't appear it will be tonight."

"Thank you," the grateful young man replied, taking the unintended invitation and seat before politely extending his hand. "My name's Matthew. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Alfred gave the other a sidelong glance and raised an eyebrow, "Sorry, hands are kinda busy." Though only one of them was actually occupied with the task of bringing the tankard to his mouth again.

Still, the young man beside him seemed undeterred and signaled the bar tendered for a drink of his own and to top Alfred's off. The gestured only seemed to annoy the half-Nord and he gave the barkeep a look that stayed his pitcher and sent him away.

Alfred then turned the same surly look to the man next to him and growled out, "I'm not on the market, pal, so don't even think about it."

The fella (Matthew, he thought he heard him say) looked slightly confused then embarrassed. "I assure you my aim was only to compensate you for your company in no more a manner than giving the illusion of two gentleman sitting together at a bar. I apologize if this was misunderstood," Matthew replied, never losing his air of civility. "It would make me stand out less to be seen with another patron, rather than to be stumbling about like a man with no purpose."

The half-Nord's frown deepened and he began scrutinizing the other even more. "Who _are_ you?"

The question made the other smile as he pulled his own tankard to his lips, "I told you, I'm Matthew and no one you need to worry about."

Alfred watched him down only a mouthful of ale before those violet eyes began to water and a disgusted look overwhelmed his face. The half-Nord would have been just as content to remove himself from the bar and walk away, but the more he watched the sorry display of this clearly upper class lordling trying to play at commoner…

"Please, just stop. You can't even fake enjoying that," He finally said, letting lose a sigh of exasperation and bringing his hand to his face. He knew he was going to regret this.

Matthew quickly put the mug down and turned his head away to cough, only returning after having wiped away a bit of ale that had escaped his mouth. The confident visage wavered a bit, as he looked back at Alfred and muttered an apology.

Alfred just sighed again and flagged the bar tender down, the man warily approaching, as Alfred ordered a mug of wine on "the other guy's tab" and placed it before him.

"There, drink this. You look like you'd be more accustomed to it."

Matthew looked skeptical and eyed the reddish beverage, "But won't drinking wine in a tavern like this look suspicious?"

"It'll look even more suspicious if you're not drinking anything at all, and at least you won't vomit this all over yourself."

The man seemed to accept the other's logic and took a few sips of the wine, which wasn't the quality he was used to but far better than the putrid shoe-water masquerading as a drinkable substance. He still couldn't seem to wash the taste from his mouth.

"So, why exactly is a rich kid like you trying to fit into a place like this?" Alfred asked, breaking Matthew's concentration and surprising the other a bit.

"Is it that obvious?" Matthew asked with a wane smile.

"First of all, even your ' _incognito_ ' traveling cloak is made of finer materials than what most of the classier women here are wearing. Second, you're far too clean and your hands are too free of callouses to pull off being a member of this lot," Alfred began, bringing his tankard up again but pausing before the first sip. "Oh, and you speak too properly. Your mastery of speech and your accent really give you away."

If Matthew hadn't been so flustered with the harsh truth of his words, he might have been more indignant about the insults to what had been his proud disguise. It was far from what he was normally made to wear, but he supposed it was still too far removed from "normal" in the lower sections of the city. His shoulders sagged in defeat and he took another gulp of the stale wine; he needed it.

Alfred gave the guy another sidelong look and cursed his own sympathetic heart. He gave in against his better judgment and pushed away from the bar, grabbing Matthew by the back of his cloak with one hand and hauling his ale away with the other. The undercover high-born only sputtered a few protests before Alfred marched him over to a booth on the far side of the room, shoved the drunken patrons out, and plopped the man on the other side of the table from him. Taking advantage of Matthew's shock, Alfred reached over and expertly removed the clasp holding the other's cloak together, ruffled his hair and ran his hand across the table before painting the other's face and shirt with the grime. While Matthew looked white faced and jolted with the sudden changes, Alfred returned to his previous blasé demeanor, kicking back and slouching in his seat. He guessed he would be here a while, so he wanted to get comfy.

"Ah, may I inquire about the…change in venue?" Matthew asked, already guessing why Alfred had altered his appearance – though he remained internally cringing as the filth dried on his skin.

"The bar is the center of attention and you're less obvious in the lower lit areas. Besides, my ass was falling asleep and the bench is more comfortable," The half-blood replied and crossed his arms over his chest, going back to scrutinizing the other. "So, now you wanna tell me what you're doing here and if I should be concerned about the possibility of people looking for you?"

After composing himself and resisting the urge to clean the dirt from his face, Matthew cleared his throat and eyed the crowded common area before replying. "It's…well, I suppose I should begin by saying that you're in no danger and if I am found out then it is no harm, no foul. I'm actually trying to fulfill the terms of a bet with one of my uncles."

Alfred gave him a deadpanned look. "An uncle," He stated flatly, clearly not believing this. "One of your well-to-do uncles made a bet with you to go down to the local pub and try not to get noticed? Let me tell ya, you nobles know how to live on the edge."

Matthew seemed more amused than offended by the comment and stifled a laugh, "My affectionately titled  _uncle_  is about as far from noble as it comes, though he's a great man and promised me the opportunity to accompany him on his next voyage to Anvil, where he's from. All I had to do was prove I could blend in with a common crowd and not get found out by the night's end."

Noticing the look on Alfred's face Matthew held up a finger, still smiling, "Only my uncle or one of his agents count."

Alfred just shook his head, fighting his own smile, and reclined back on the bench again. "It seems like you're going through a lot of work just to get to Anvil," He mentioned off-handedly. "I'll give it credit for being a nicer city than most but it's not all that different from the port cities on this side of the Imperial territories." He then paused for a moment and his expression soured. "Though cities over here have a refreshingly lower population of cats."

It was Matthew's turn to raise his eyebrows. "You don't like cats?"

"More like they don't like me, but that's not something we need to get into."

The younger man had an odd gleam in his eyes and ignored the state of the table to rest his arms and upper body on it, now looking at Alfred with rapt interest and Alfred doubted it was about his strange relationship with cats. "So, you've travelled a lot? I mean, like outside of the Imperial territories? Judging by your sword I'd say you were some kind of warrior, but your armor is far from properly commission material – so I'm guessing you're freelance. Do you enjoy that kind of life? Do you like not owing allegiance to anyone and having to respect boundaries?"

The half-blood stared back with arched brows and a rather astound expression on his face. This young Nord noble was certainly full of surprises and more observant than the mercenary had first thought…perhaps if he hadn't been so clouded with the exciting prospect of adventure (that Alfred guessed the guy was sorely missing in his life) he might have done a better job preparing to win his bet.

There was a kind of energy to this Matthew that…really resonated with him. He remembered his days growing up in isolation with his mother and then again in Whiterun with Kodlak and his guild. He had been almost desperate with a need for change and freedom from the terribly cautious, routine life he's been living and it had been one of the reasons for his thoughtless behavior, which eventually got him cast out. He looked back at Matthew with a new appreciation and for the first time all night, he could forget that he had been counting the moments waiting for Arthur and enjoy another's company for a change.

He gave the young noble his characteristic, genuine smile, and finally extended his hand in return for the handshake Matthew had tried when they first met. "Alfred of Rorikstead, and if you don't mind I'd rather start the conversation off about more exciting places than Anvil."

* * *

Hours had passed with Alfred's enthusiastic story telling and Matthew's insatiable appetite for more. Alfred enjoyed regaling his adventures with members of his former guild, interesting people he had met on his journeys and even with Arthur. When Matthew heard that Alfred had seen and even fought real dragons he became completely smitten with wonder-lust. To have beheld such things as Alfred had…

By the time the patrons had begun to clear out and return home, Matthew could contain himself no longer and what he had wanted to sound mature came out as a terribly childish plea, "May I come with you?"

Alfred had been in the middle of recanting his and Arthur's most recent encounter with the vile priests of Potema when the request stopped him short. His dramatic hand gestures froze before he slowly lowered them back down to the table and became more subdued. Considering the excitement on his face throughout their time at the booth together, his expression now seemed so grim and Matthew's heart dropped. He knew what was coming before Alfred uttered a word.

"I'm sorry Matthew, but you can't. Travelling around like Arthur and I do is hazardous enough, but add in all the people and creatures we have to deal with…its just too – "

"Dangerous," Matthew finished for him and sank back in his seat looking sullen. "Trust me, I've heard that every time I ask anyone to even let me leave the city. I swear, they all intend to make a coffin for me of my own home."

Alfred's shoulders sagged and he sighed. He understood Matthew's plight all too well and knew he had recklessly bantered on about the wonders of adventuring, rather than balance it out with the very realistic dangers. Then again…perhaps it wouldn't have mattered if he had. When his mother would tell him stories about her days in the Imperial Legion she had been very honest about the perils involved, and still Alfred would have given anything to have escaped and explore the world beyond the home he was never allowed to leave. He would have given anything for change back then…sadly, he learned just how cruel life could be with such a blank check.

"You know…growing up, I could only dream about living in a city like yours. I didn't care about wealth or anything like that, but I wanted the atmosphere and the chance to meet people," The half-Nord began and looked back at his companion with the same kind of aged sadness of those who have rued the consequences of naïve youth. "I guess we can never be grateful for what we have until we get what we think we want and it isn't all we had hoped it would be."

Matthew averted his gaze shyly for a moment before being able to look Alfred in the eye again. "Do you regret your freedom to see the world as you do?"

The mercenary just smiled, but it never reached his eyes. "My freedom? No, I don't regret that. What it took to gain that freedom though…I wish things had been different every day of my life."

Silence fell between the pair before a man dressed in a mage's travelling cloak entered the tavern and almost immediately set eyes on Alfred. The mercenary seemed to sense it and looked up, suddenly smiling from ear to ear and making Matthew turn in his seat to behold an approaching Breton. The Nord immediately guessed this must be Arthur, who Alfred had talked so much about. He had to admit that he was expecting someone…perhaps a bit taller.

"You took a lot longer than you said you would. Had my new friend here not come along," Alfred began and gave Matthew a wink. "I'd have stormed the castle."

Arthur brushed Alfred's unspoken concern off, as he seemed in a hurry. "The nobles of this city seem incapable of getting to the point of anything. We could have been halfway done with this fine mess by now," The mage muttered and only then spared Matthew a glance.

Their eyes met and very soon Arthur's captivated interest in the other become uncomfortably noticeable. Matthew broke eye contact for a moment to signal his question to Alfred, but before the half-blood (who was also rather baffled by the Breton's sudden behavior) could intervene, Arthur came back to himself and extended a slight bow to Matthew.

"Forgive me, sir, I thought…you might have been someone else for a moment," He said and looked quickly at Alfred. "I hate cutting this short but we're pressed for time. I'll meet you outside when you're ready."

The mage didn't give his companion time to answer before offering Matthew one final nod and heading out the door. Both men at the booth seemed unsure of what to make of the eccentric Breton's exit, but Alfred did know that Arthur was conveying urgency and he really needed to go. He felt bad leaving Matthew so soon, but there was little else he could do.

"I guess this is goodbye for now," Alfred began and gave his new friend an apologetic smile. "Do you think you'll have won your bet tonight?"

Matthew returned the smile and shrugged, "I guess I'll find out when I return home and there isn't someone waiting to scold me at the gates."

The half-blood snorted out a laugh and stood, "Then don't go in through the gates. Sneak back in through a way they won't expect and be safely tucked in your bed before they're ever the wiser of you having been gone." He said and then placed a few coins down on the table. "Tonight's on me, so you can tell your uncle you played the part well enough that a common guy felt the need to pay your tab tonight."

However sad he was to see the mercenary leaving, Matthew found himself smiling back and grateful. The night had begun as a disaster for him, but finding Alfred had been the stroke of luck he needed to keep his spirits high and have any hope of achieving his purpose tonight. Even if he didn't succeed and had somehow lost this bet…he didn't regret having taken the risk.

Meeting Alfred had been worth a hundred voyages to Anvil.

The young noble then stood and offered his hand to the mercenary, the other taking it and returning a hearty handshake. "May you travel with the speed of your Divines, Alfred of Rorikstead. I hope this won't be the last time we enjoy each other's company."

As Alfred bade his own farewell and left to find his companion, Matthew stared at the coins on the table and sighed. His loneliness was short lived when a hooded man stepped behind him and placed a firm, but sympathetic hand on his shoulder. It startled the young lord at first, but his mood soon turned to disappointment as he resigned to having been caught.

"I should have known I couldn't escape the blue prison for long…" He groaned.

"To your credit it did take a little more time than usual to find you. I almost didn't recognize you when I arrived and found you dirtied and chatting it up with a sell-sword," the man lightly replied before gathering Matthew's forgotten cloak on the bench and handing it to him. "I have to admit, I haven't seen you smile like that in a long time. For however angry your uncle would have been with Gilbert and I for allowing this little adventure of yours…I wish he could have at least seen that."

When the young man didn't respond the other sighed and took it upon himself to fill the silence, "He loves you, Matthew. He's just exceedingly afraid for your protection is all."

"Do me a favor," Matthew interrupted, as he slipped out of the man's grasp and turned to soundly face him. "Grant those two safe passage within the city and I won't make a fuss, deal?"

The hooded man fell silent, but did manage an amused smile and shake of his head, "Not that they'll need it, but I suppose I can grant you that much," he said and clasped the lad on the shoulder to walk beside him more companionably. "Just so you know, that kind heart of yours is why we worry so. Come, let's get you home."

* * *

Though he sat at the mahogany desk in the gloom of his office, his mind was far away. The memories and terrible feelings that accompanied them had resurfaced in a tidal wave he could no longer force to remain blockaded inside his heart. The terrible love and sorrow, the hatred, the contempt over the precious life lost so long ago…

He remembered her face as it glowed in life and how cold it had been in death. He remembered standing beside his remaining sibling as she grieved, hearing the cries of their sister's final legacy and how he had been forced to withhold his own tears to care for the newborn that would never know his mother's touch.

He missed her. He missed his beloved sister and best friend every day. Every time his eyes beheld a lily or he smelled the scent of jasmine, whenever winter turned to spring and the rivers shed their skins of ice…When his nephew only looked at him with her same lavender colored eyes or smiled her same sweet smile…the shadow he cast was always of her and the brow he kissed every night before bed was hers.

And every man who ever threatened this precious boy's wellbeing…was  _him_.

"You are sure he doesn't know?" The thane asked, his eyes closed, as he leaned back in his chair and tried to quiet the maelstrom inside of him.

He could see his friend's reluctance in his mind, "Yes. But Matthew is a smart boy and I know he suspects something."

The thane's stomach tightened and he waited at length before speaking again. "Did he have a look of longing in his eyes, as he listened to the tales of exploits beyond Solitude? Did you see envy or inspiration…admiration, perhaps?"

"Come now Francis, any young man as sheltered as Matthew would display that," the other replied carefully. "Hell, when Antonio and I tell him about the wonders we've seen on our journeys his eyes light up like stars. He has spirit…much like his uncle did once."

The final comment had been said with a great deal of unspoken nostalgia and loss. It did not go unnoticed by the thane and the faded youth within him sympathetically lamented. But to his added sorrow the feeling could not withstand the fear and hate crashing against the worn dam of his heart. He thoughts of that man again and his fists balled against the arms of the chair.

"It is not my spirit I fear him having, Gilbert…it is the man whose seed brought about his conception," Francis began, his tone hardening, as he opened his eyes and sat up straight in the chair. "Tell me, did the bastard-son look just like his father? Did he have the same seducer's countenance and false mien of self-importance? Did he look like the same wolf clothed in the skin of man?"

He would have laughed at his own unintended pun, but the thought of exactly  _what_  Alfred was only infuriated him further.

Gilbert knew it would come to this and his ire rose. He knew he had to be delicate with his old friend about this subject, but it was so difficult seeing the man he had once entitled the life of their company to be so consumed with hate. The Francis he knew before his sister's passing had become a faded memory and it left Gilbert bitter. He had loved Francis and his sister, they all had; but none of them loved the man the shadow of her death had spawned.

Still, neither he nor Antonio would abandon the third member of their party…all they could do was serve him as his closest allies and pray they could keep him from loosing all faith in humanity.

"The boy looks just like his brother, the resemblance is uncanny. Were Matthew to adorn the armor of a warrior and the other the robes of a thane's ward, it would be impossible to tell them apart from afar," Gilbert replied, trying to keep his tongue and emotions in check. "So I implore you not to judge the lad based on looks alone."

The comment seemed to have struck a cord and Francis finally looked back at his friend.

Gilbert was as pale as death, with crimson eyes and a gaunt frame. The Imperial had been born an albino and endured a lifetime of stigmatization for it; yet in spite of the harsh treatment the world had forced upon him, he never once lost that natural sociability many envied. Gilbert was a benign womanizer, a cynic and a clown. With his quick blade and even quicker tongue, he made for as dashing a swordsman as he did a clever bard. Regardless of his low birth and unfortunate genetics, Gilbert was a man of many talents and even more admirers.

Even the  _vampirism_  he suffered from, a secret he and their friend Antonio had kept secret for years, had not robbed the man of his spirit…or his seldom displayed compassion.

The thane sighed and rubbed a hand over his face, leaning forward in his seat to place his elbows on the desk. "Forgive me, my friend. I had not meant to offend you."

The pale man was still dressed in the common attire he'd taken for the evening to follow Matthew and scuffed at his chum and superior, giving him a censorious look. "It's not me you've offended, it's your old integrity. This altered you is a frightening thing  _my lord_ , and I would not be forced to preach understanding and caution to the man you used to be."

Francis did not respond for some time and when he did, his words sent a shiver down Gilbert's spine. "Goodnight, my friend. The rest of this matter has already been arranged to be taken care of and I shan't trouble you with it further."

The albino's eyes narrowed and the hairs on the back of his neck began to rise. "Francis…what have you done?"

* * *

The second this dark errand was over, Alfred was stripping himself bare of this armor and burning it. Even with the rain coming down as hard as it was, the urge to tear the slime and decomposing fluid soaked attire from his body was strong – the smell alone was absolutely intolerable! All of it made worse by the continuously dripping satchel in his hand, containing the head of a once undead Wolf Queen of Solitude.

"If this temple isn't around the next corner, I'm going to be sick," Alfred whined for the hundredth time, still cringing and holding the decapitated head away from him.

"If you had been sick a few corners ago, I might actually believe you," Arthur snipped back and huddled deeper into his cloak in defense against the rain.

Neither of them was eager to drag this mission out longer than necessary, as it was already creeping into its second week. Before coming to Solitude over a day ago, the pair had been tracking necromancers trying to resurrect the centuries dead "Queen of Wolves", Potema. After stopping the ritual and killing the priests they had returned for their reward (or rather Arthur returned to the palace for it, as Alfred waited in a tavern), only to discover that the queen's spirit was still trying to cross over and had attached itself to them. It had been a nightmare trying to calm Alfred down and get his ass into the catacombs beneath the city, which were crawling with draugr and vampires.

Of course, with Alfred's ridiculously debilitating fear of anything undead, it had made for a perilous venture that was sure to make the half-blood insufferable for weeks.

No sooner had he thought it, Alfred stopped in his tracks beside the mage and forced the other's focus up. Arthur saw a group of men loitering beneath the awning of a strangely unlit guard tower and Alfred's wary expression remained locked on them. A member of the group pointed in their direction and soon the congregation began walking towards them, causing Alfred's hand to latch onto the hilt of his sword and Arthur clutched the staff beneath his cloak tighter.

"Good evening, gentlemen!" One of the men called out giving a friendly wave, as his cohorts began spreading out. "What brings you out in this weather?"

Arthur glanced at Alfred and found him watching the others starting to encircle them, and returned his focus to their addresser. "We're on our way to the Hall of the Dead on official business for Jarl Elisif's steward, Falk Firebeard. It would be wise of you to let us pass."

The man held up his hands for peace and stopped a few arm lengths away, "Aye, all is well sir, and we assure you we'll be letting you pass the checkpoint."

"But he'll have to stay for questioning," another cut in, while twirling a hatchet in his hand.

Arthur could feel Alfred's heckles rising and memories of Markarth returned. This time there had been no plans to get caught and he wasn't about to relinquish his companion for anything. He didn't think twice about slowly pulling his staff from beneath his cloak and lighting up the night with its glow. All eyes moved from Alfred, their clear target, to him and that's where he wanted them.

"No, we will both be leaving now," he stated and tapped the bottom of the staff on the ground, sending pulses of rainwater glowing in arcane designs around each man in his sights. "If anyone has any objections, you can take them up with me."

"Arthur, it's too dangerous to use magic here – "

"There's no point in alerting the guards protecting a dog!"

Arthur stopped and turned to find Alfred rooted to the spot and pale. The half-blood was wide-eyed and staring at the man who'd thrown the insult with a mixture of disbelief and terror. It could have been taken as just a simple offense but there was no mistaking the true intent – especially when both Alfred and Arthur were now very aware that every weapon in sight was plated with silver.

"Who are you?" Alfred demanded in a voice edging on inhuman. The stress of the situation was rising and Arthur felt the temperature around his companion increasing.

"Reapers of your filth-ridden kind, monster," one of them snapped and emboldened a few to start moving closer.

Alfred seemed absolutely beside himself and flung his own growing hostility right back, "I haven't done anything to deserve that! How dare you even think you can judge me!"

Arthur felt another alarming spike in the temperature and his heart caught in his throat. No, Alfred couldn't change in the middle of the city; there would be no way out and nowhere to conceal him.

He would  _not_  lose Alfred to these curs.

"We protect the people of this world from abominations like you!"

The knife came too quickly for either of them to stop it and the tip of the blade lodged itself between the shoulder plates of Alfred's armor. It jolted the mercenary forward and when the shock ebbed he screamed in pain. It seemed to be the motivation the others needed to converge and Arthur watched in dismay as the first tremor of the change wracked his companion.

" ** _YOL TOOR_**!"

The power of the shout wracked the atmosphere and ruptured every molecule in range. A torrent of air and fire engulfed five of the seven assailants and sent them crashing into buildings. Glass showered streets for blocks and screams from once sleeping citizens set the chorus beneath the echoes of the dragon's breath now roving Solitude.

The city bells were sounding and Arthur knew the guards were coming; still his first priority was the mercenary in the throngs of his change and desperately trying to rip the silver blade from his back. Arthur knew once the process had started there was no stopping it, and now it was a matter of protecting the beast that would soon emerge.

He had to get Alfred out of here or the whole city would be hunting him.

"Run," Arthur commanded, falling on top of Alfred to wrestle him still and grab the knife. " _RUN_!"

He wretched the blade out and Alfred's scream morphed into a howl. Neither of them could prevent this now and Arthur shouted his command again, as the sound of armored guards racing towards them rang in his ears.

Still only partially changed and fighting it, they shared one last look before Alfred's instincts sided with Arthur and he fled towards the city wall, scaling it only by the grace of his curse and vanishing over it. Arthur kept watching before he was grabbed and taken to the ground, his face pushed into the rain soaked cobblestones and held there until he stopped struggling.

Someone only lifted him up after putting manacles on him and he faced a white haired man wearing the armor of an Imperial guard. He was about his height, young considering the average age of men of his obvious station, and looking at the Breton now with an unsettling familiarity. However, it was his glowing red eyes and undead aura that worried Arthur the most.

The man didn't say anything but the two survivors from the attack were shouting out their accusations, while other guards tried to return order to the chaos. Nothing seemed to be deterring the red-eyed man's attention though, and he leaned in close to the mage without hesitation.

"It's good that he got away…but you're in a lot of trouble."

 

**To Be Continued…**

 

* * *

_Original Notes from the Author (2014):_

Welcome back to the fic everyone and thank you for reading! Since the beginning we've received a lot of questions regarding other Hetalia characters being added into this story and are pleased to finally be able to introduce Matthew and the Bad Touch Trio. We're both very excited to be bringing this to you and hope you all will enjoy our characterizations of them. Readers familiar with my Matthew in the "Never Your Hero" universe may be surprised with this softer, younger version of him but I assure you there's much more to reveal about Skyrim!Matthew as we go along. I also want to take a moment to touch on Francis, who is essentially an antagonist in this tale...I implore you, just as I did with Ivan, to keep an open mind and know that Francis's character is as complex here as he is in my  _Never Your Hero_. So France fans, have faith in us and look forward to the second part to this fic! On Antonio and Gilbert...yeah, its Antonio and Gilbert. X'D Pie and I love these guys.

As an added note, this is Alfred very FIRST ever direct encounter with the Silver Hand. Up until now he had done well avoiding them by staying hidden and never remaining in one place for too long. He has managed to go his entire life without running across them and now...well, this was the event that made him known to them. This time line of this fic is a few months after the first tale, " _Fealty_ ", and life gets incalculably more difficult for the guys after this. :') Pie and I know...we torture these guys so shamelessly.

Thank you all again for reading the fic, participating in our Ask Blog on Tumblr, and sending us all of your feedback and support! All of our best and we hope to have more works out for this project soon!

_Sincerely,_

_General Kitty Girl / Kelbora_

_&_

_Pie_


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